


Sunlight

by aquietdin



Category: My Time At Portia (Video Game)
Genre: Arlo's POV, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, F/M, Falling In Love, Game Spoilers, Gen, Light Angst, Slow Burn, excrutiatingly slow burn so buckle up, minor hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-09-29 17:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 70,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20439599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquietdin/pseuds/aquietdin
Summary: The new builder arrived on the first day of Spring.[A story about my builder Elora finding her place in a new town.]





	1. Spring Year 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is painfully self-indulgent but whatever. I've deliberately left my builder's physical description vague so readers can imagine what they'd like.
> 
> I love feedback! Let me know if you enjoyed :D

The new builder arrived on the first day of Spring.

Arlo didn’t see her, too busy with other tasks, but it seemed she went straight to bed the moment she arrived. He couldn’t blame her. He’d taken that journey to and from Barnarock, and it was exhausting to be at sea that long.

Proper introductions happened the next morning - as proper as they could be when he kicked in the doors to the Commerce Guild. It was a running joke in town, him kicking open doors - but the new builder, a tiny girl with short hair and a frail looking build, seemed more than a little shocked. She even stepped back from Arlo when he approached.

He tried to talk to her, but she only squeaked, leaving Presley to introduce her. “Arlo, this is young Elora. She’s taking over the abandoned Workshop south of Peach Plaza.”

She seemed to come unstuck then, straightening her shoulders and sticking out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Arlo.”

Her handshake was firm.

Arlo left Presley to explain the finer details of the bridge to Amber Island and pondered how it would be nice to have another builder stationed locally. As skilled as Higgins was, he was not the most pleasant man to deal with.

\-----

Spring wore on and the weather warmed, days becoming balmy as summer loomed. The bridge to Amber Island was completed within two weeks - Elora seemed to have a talent for her trade despite a lack of experience. Arlo had taken to saying hello to her whenever they crossed paths. She seemed friendly and easygoing, and he could usually find her in the company of Emily, Albert, or Sonia.

On his morning jog, he passed her workshop and saw her strapping a large battery to her back. Curious, he went to the gate.

“Yo there,” Arlo called. Elora turned to him, waving as she shifted her cargo. “What’s that you’ve got?”

Hefting the machine up towards her shoulders, Elora smiled. “The battery that the mayor ordered for the Amber Island cave. I was on my way to install it.”

He cocked an eyebrow. That battery was almost as tall as she was. “Need a hand?”

She shook her head and cheerfully started towards the path that led south towards the beach. “I’ve got it, but thanks!”

He watched her go. She was stronger than she looked, it seemed.

Morning waned into a hot afternoon, the sun beating down enough to make Arlo roll up his sleeves. He stopped in the Round Table for a reprieve and a cold drink, finding several of his fellow citizens doing the same. The sudden rash of thefts had left him frazzled and stretched thin - it seems everyone in town was a victim, even Remi. He took a seat at the bar as Sonia came to his side, her wide smile and deep eyes glittering.

“Hello Captain!” She never shed the formality of his position, using it more as a pet name than anything. “What can I getcha?”

Arlo untied his bandanna and unzipped his jacket. “A Seesai Fruit Mix, over ice if you could.”

Sonia winked. “Comin’ right up.”

The cool atmosphere of the bistro coupled with his iced drink gave Arlo sweet relief from the heat that was building. This summer was going to be brutal, he could already tell. He’d need to ask Carol about sewing him a lighter jacket to wear while on duty. As he sipped his mixer, voices near the door caught his eye.

“I mean, she’s always around.” It was Emily, coming into the Round Table with a furrow in her delicate brow. “I can usually find her.”

On her heels, Antoine shrugged. “Maybe she’s tied up with something? She’s always busy, quite the workaholic it seems.”

Emily made a soft, doubtful sound, rubbing her arm. Arlo assessed the situation; something was amiss. He wouldn’t be any good at his job if he wasn’t keenly observant of the town and it’s people. He took his drink and stood from his barstool.

“What seems to be the trouble?” Arlo asked. Emily pouted.

“I can’t seem to find the new builder Elora,” she explained. “She said she’d give me a hand with my chickens, but she’s not at home, and no one has seen her in hours.”

A flash of cold went through Arlo that had nothing to do with the fruit mix in his hand. He slammed the half empty glass on the counter, zipped his jacket, and rushed out the door. Elora had left for the Amber Island cave that morning. The console needing repair wasn’t far into the cave, she should have finished installing that battery within an hour. He found Sam on her horse talking to Remington in the Central Square.

“Sam,” he pointed at her. “With me. Elora is missing, she went into the cave on Amber Island to make repairs but hasn’t come out. Remi, ask around town, see if anyone has seen her.”

The two Civil Corps members blinked, then nodded in affirmation. Remington took off towards Peach Plaza as Arlo hefted himself into the saddle behind Sam, no time to make the trek back to the post to get his own horse. They rode to the island, dismounting and leaving her horse with a bewildered Liuwa.

“Don’t let anyone else in here!” Arlo commanded as he and Sam ducked into the cave. They searched every passage, behind every rock. They found fresh footprints that looked small enough to have been Elora’s, and followed them to a sealed door.

“Damn, this wasn’t closed before.” Arlo punched the door with his fist, a metal clang echoing around them. Sam backed up and took a running jump, grabbing the lip of a high window on the door and pulling herself up.

“I see the console, and the battery,” she relayed. “But no one’s there. There’s another open door --” 

Arlo didn’t like the way Sam stopped short, moving to support her feet with his hands. “What?”

Sam’s frown deepened. “Looks like there was a fight in there. Ground’s covered in scrapes and burn marks.”

Cursing under his breath, Arlo let Sam down. “We need to find a way in.”

They searched the cave twice over, but there was no other way into the control room, not even a crawl space. Arlo felt his temperature rising despite the chill of the underground. Elora hadn’t been here a month yet, and she was already in danger. What if she was hurt, or worse? He should have gone with her this morning. He should have insisted.

“We’ll find her,” Sam assured him as they made for the entrance. They got back on her horse and went towards town, hopefully Remi had found something.

Elora wasn’t in town, either.

“No one’s seen her,” Remington reported. “But we have another issue. Dr Xu and Phyllis said they heard strange noises coming from the ruins behind the Clinic. We need to get up there in case something comes out.”

This was _ not _ Arlo’s day.

The three of them bolted up to the ruins, and Arlo could hear the noises in question before they even got close. Slamming, groaning, the screeching of metal on metal. It grew louder, then stopped suddenly. After a minute of quiet, the sound of uneven footsteps came towards the old door that had been sealed for years.

“Get ready for a fight,” Arlo said, dropping into a defensive stance. At his side, Sam and Remington did the same.

The door groaned, a clamp broke loose. Arlo raised his fists as it opened -

And out tumbled a bewildered looking girl, covered in grime and scratches, her arms loaded with odds and ends.

“Elora!” Sam exclaimed. “We’ve been looking for you! Are you alright?”

She stared at them, wide eyed, a bead of sweat rolling down her face. “I-- y-yeah, I’m okay.” Opening her arms, Elora dropped what she’d been holding; a basket, a pot, a lamp, and a pair of shoes.

“My boots,” Remi smiled. “Where did you find them?”

Elora leaned her hands on her knees, puffing out a breath. “In the cave. I found the thieves, turned out to be a bunch of Bandirats.” She jerked a thumb behind her to the door. “I took care of them.”

Arlo frowned. She looked like hell, the wooden practice sword on her back scuffed and cracked. He motioned at the other Civil Corps members. “Go on in and check it out, I’ll be right behind you.”

“Presley’s couch is in there,” Elora told them as they walked past her. “I couldn’t carry it out, though.”

After Sam and Remi were out of sight, Arlo crossed his arms. “You could have been in serious trouble. Next time, leave matters like these to the Civil Corps.”

Elora frowned up at him, dusting off her pants and straightening her back to stand at her full height. “I was trapped in a cave and attacked, what was I supposed to do? Tell the feral Bandirats to wait until my reinforcements arrived?”

Arlo blinked in surprise. Even being a full head shorter than him, he had to admit the tiny woman could have a commanding presence when she wanted to. He sighed, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“You could have been_ killed. _And it’s my job to keep you safe. So next time you go into a cave or a danger ruin, do us a favor and ask for an escort.” He looked her up and down for good measure. “Now get to the clinic. If you were fighting Banidrats, you probably need a round of antibiotics, their scratches can cause infection.”

Elora didn’t look impressed, but nodded anyway. Leaving her to return to town, Arlo went to join his comrades in the ruin, and found a wide room scattered with the remains of who knew how many Bandirats. Sam whistled low.

“Nothing left for us to clean up,” Remi commented, a sly grin playing at the corner of his mouth. “I think that little builder is tougher than she looks.”

Taking in the aftermath, Arlo had to admit that he was probably right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued!


	2. Summer 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think I have ever written anything so self indulgent in my life but what the heck, I’m having fun :) let me know if you enjoyed reading!

The summer was _ awful. _

Carol had been kind enough to make Arlo a new set of warm weather clothes, including a much lighter jacket that breathed well. It helped, but he still tried to keep his patrols to the earliest part of the day, before the sun rose too high.

Having the Dee Dee transport system in place was turning out to be a godsend to the townspeople. It was too hot to walk around most days, and not everyone had horses. The vehicles and stops seemed to spring up within a week of their announcement - mostly likely a result of having more than one local builder. He spotted builder Elora assembling a stop by the Tree Farm early one morning, and she turned to grin at him, looking quite proud of herself.

It was a blessedly overcast day when Elora found Arlo on his patrol in the field, chasing him down. “Arlo! Hey!”

Halting his horse, he turned to see her cherry red jacket. Elora stopped and caught her breath.

“What can I do for you?” He asked from the saddle.

Elora straightened up and put her hands on her hips. “Sam tells me that I need to pass a test if I want to explore the Collapsed Wasteland.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Yep, standard procedure. You have to last one minute in a spar with a Civil Corps member to prove you can defend yourself.”

The smile on her face was downright _ cocky. _ “Do you have a minute?”

That made him blink, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Are you challenging me?”

She shrugged. “I need to get into that Wasteland for resources, so yeah, I guess I am.”

Arlo grinned. This woman was barely over five feet tall and probably weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she had some serious fire. It reminded him of Sam, the day she came for her entrance exam for the Civil Corps. That fight has lasted nearly an hour before Remington declared a draw.

“Meet me in the Central Plaza in fifteen minutes.”

Elora showed up on time as Sam and Remington cleared the plaza and set up in position to act as timekeeper and referee. Arlo took his place opposite of Elora as a small crowd began to gather around them.

“Alright,” Remi called out. “This is a one minute test, so I want a clean fight. No face shots, no hitting below the belt. Sam?”

Sam held up her gold stopwatch. “Ready!”

“Arlo, Elora?”

Builder and Captain nodded. Remington’s hand cut through the air.

“Begin!”

Arlo and Elora lunged at the same moment. She was small but _ fast, _ shooting across their makeshift ring in the blink of an eye. She threw a right hook that he easily caught in his left hand, feeling an impressive impact for her size. He let her take a few more shots at him, catching or deflecting them all, before swinging his right arm in an arc towards her - making sure not to use his full strength.

She sidestepped his punch.

And in the split second of his surprise, Elora turned one ankle under his, took hold of his outstretched arm, shoved her hip under his chest, and _ threw him. _

Arlo rolled away on the cobblestone, rising easily to one knee. A chorus of gasps rose from the spectators, followed by clapping. On the other side of the ring, Elora grinned wide.

It was _ on. _

Elora led him in circles, dodging his attacks and counter attacking when she could. Not that she was strong enough to so much as bruise him, but her ability to remain in the fight was still impressive. It took several tries to finally land a kick that sent her sprawling to the pavement.

A flash of memory went through Arlo like a bolt: looking up from the ground, his jaw bruised and throbbing, as a woman with red eyes smiled down at him.

“Enough,” Arlo called as Elora climbed to her feet. “Sam?”

Sam’s grin was beaming as she waved her pocket watch. “Two minutes, forty eight seconds.”

Wiping his jaw with the back of his fist, Arlo laughed. “Well! I’d say that qualifies our builder here for a trek into the Collapsed Wasteland!” He walked to Elora and extended his hand to help him up. She took it, breathing hard, sweat on her brow.

“Looks like I don’t have to worry about you.”

She huffed, but smiled. “What, a cave full of dead Bandirats wasn’t proof enough?”

Arlo laughed again and patted her back. To the side, Sam folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, I like her,” she said. Remington chuckled.

\-----

Of all the things Arlo would remember most keenly about the issue with the poisoned water supply, it would be the _ smell. _

He could smell it before he ever saw the Peach Plaza fountain, a sour stench that left a metallic tang in his mouth. It reminded him of the bottom of a ruin he’d explored once, the tunnels flooded with liquid waste left over from the old world. He’d temporarily lost his sense of smell after that adventure, and it took weeks for his appetite to return.

The fountain itself was frothing with a sickly green goo, gummy and thick. He suppressed a gag as the horrible odor intensified the closer he got. Mayor Gale, Merlin, Sam and Elora were already chatting.

“Whatever this is,” Sam motioned at the poisoned fountain, “It’s coming from further up river. Problem is, the lift to the Bassanio Heights is broken, so we can’t get up there to find the source.”

Gale took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it over his nose. “Can it be fixed?”

“I think so,” Sam confirmed.

“Then I’ll post a commission,” Arlo said, his hands on his hips. “Sam, tell Remington to get the news to Doctor Xu, we’re probably going to end up with some sick people. Then head over to Duck pond and see if it’s affected, hopefully there’s still clean water over there.”

Everyone split up, Arlo making a beeline for the Commerce Guild. He quickly filled out a commission request form, and had barely pinned it to the board before it was snatched down. He followed the paper to find Elora reading it with a serious expression.

“Hmm,” she tapped her chin with a finger. “This might take me a bit, ironwood isn’t an easy material to work with.” Folding the commission, Elora tucked it into her pocket and nodded. “I’ll go see Petra about the lift controls.”

Grinning, Arlo crossed his arms. “You’re a real go-getter, aren’t you?”

She said nothing, only smiled before turning and hurrying out of the Commerce Guild. Portia had certainly become an interesting place since she arrived.

\-----

It took nearly two weeks for the water to clear.

In that time, Dawa and Aadit pitched in to bring daily water supplies from Duck Pond, which was still clean and free of pollution, and distributing it among residents. A temporary outdoor bath was hastily set up at the pond, mostly out of tarps for privacy, which Arlo found himself visiting every night. If this had happened during spring, fall, or winter, it wouldn’t have posed nearly as much of a problem - but the hot summer air meant going without bathing wasn’t an option anyone wanted to consider.

Every builder in town pulled together to fix the lift. Arlo witnessed a rare cease-fire between Higgins and Elora, who’d been bitter rivals since her first day in town. Once they were able to access Bassanio Heights, Sam and Remington made quick work of finding the source of the problem: a broken pipe, leaking old world sewage into the river.

Elora, ever on the ball, ponied up the supplies to fix the pipe early one morning. A few hours after they went in, the river began to clear, as did the horrible odor. A quick check of the fountain told the same story - clean water was beginning to run through it. Informing the mayor, Arlo organized several clean up crews to scrub the remaining pollution from the fountains and the banks of the river.

By late afternoon, Sam and Elora hadn’t come out of WOW Industries yet.

He checked around, but the only thing Arlo found inside the entrance of the old structure was the pipe that had been leaking, freshly welded shut with steel plating. There was a giant hole in the floor, but it was too risky to just jump in. He needed backup.

Arlo returned an hour later with Remington, Paulie, and a rope ladder. The sun would be setting soon, and there was no way he was leaving his teammate and a civilian to fend for themselves in a danger ruin overnight. But before his small rescue operation could even reach WOW Industries, two figures came limping out.

It was Sam and Elora, grimy and muddy, supporting each other as Sam clearly favored her left leg. But they were smiling, laughing.

“You’re alright,” Arlo breathed in relief as he approached them. Sam’s jeans were torn in several places, Elora was sporting a black eye and the remains of a bloody nose.

Sam laughed. “Yeah, we ran into some, uh, _ trouble,” _ she said, making air quotes. “Miss hero over here took out a giant rat king all by herself and left the small fry for me!”

Arlo blinked. “Is that so?” Elora didn’t answer, but bent over with her hands on her knees, clearly exhausted. “I’ll have to hear that story, but first, I think we should get the two of you some medical attention. And, no offense, a bath.”

Sam punched him lightly, but laughed. Elora snickered, rubbing a finger under her nose.

\-----

Summer began to draw to a close, the sunset inching closer to the afternoon slowly but surely. Days were still hot, but the evenings brought a cool wind from the ocean, a sign of a looming season change.

Like every year, the end of summer brought with it an outpouring of commissions from the town. Help with fixing this, needing a new one of that. The board in the Commerce Guild was overflowing with forms, many hastily filled out and noted ‘urgent’ with a red stamp. Autumn was the busiest time for tourists, and every shop in town wanted a last minute spruce-up to maximize sales.

It was on his third pass through town during his rounds that Arlo had the faintest prickle of unease. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know what, but he’d learned to trust his instincts. Arlo doubled back and steered his horse towards the abandoned mine, sweeping his eyes to every corner he could see.

He was ready to chalk it up to imagination when a tiny flash of color caught his eye, cherry red against green grass. With a click of his tongue, he sent his horse towards it. 

He almost fell off his horse when he came upon Elora, lying face down in the grass. Her bag open beside her, its contents strewn about.

“Elora?” Arlo dismounted his horse in a hurry. “Hey, answer me!”

She didn’t answer, not even when he picked her up and turned her over. He face was flushed red and sweaty, her skin burning hot to the touch. As he hefted her unresponsive body into the saddle, he tried not to notice how light she was.

Bursting through the doors of the clinic with an unconscious woman in his arms wasn’t how he’d planned on spending the afternoon, but from the way Doctor Xu dropped his sandwich to rush to meet them, he wasn’t the only one caught off guard. Arlo helped get Elora to a clinic bed before backing off to let the doctor work. With nothing left to do there, he went back to the pathway where he found her to gather her things.

Among the tools and supplies in her bag, there was also a stack of papers. A glance told him that they were commission forms - at least a dozen of them, ranging from small repairs to rare relic retrieval. There was even an order for a large scale drilling machine.

The memory of how the young builder had practically torn the Bassanio life commission from his hands surfaced, and Arlo groaned out loud. He should have seen this coming.

He made a stop at her workshop and found several projects in progress, parts and pieces sitting in piles, with the inside of her home in similar disarray. The mailbox contained two more requests, which looked to have been hastily opened and then shoved back in. In short, it was a mess. No wonder he’d found her in such a state.

Arlo went back to the clinic, where Elora was awake and sitting up as Doctor Xu took her temperature. “Do you know what happened?” He asked, then took back the thermometer. “You have a slight fever, but nothing serious.”

Elora shook her head. “The heat must have gotten to me.”

Approaching, Arlo tapped at the stack of commissions in his hand. “I think there might be a little more to it than that.”

The way Elora blanched as she spotted the papers spoke volumes. Doctor Xu glanced between them, then stood. “I’ll prepare some medicinal tea to help you re-hydrate.”

Once Xu retreated, Arlo sat at the bedside and noted how Elora was looking anywhere but at him. He shifted through the papers with a sigh.

“There were thirteen commission requests in your bag,” he said, keeping his voice down. _ “Thirteen _. There’s a reason we don’t allow workshops to take more than one. How did you get this many?”

Elora was nervously picking at a nail as she stared at the blanket on her lap. “Most of them came directly to me, asking for help,” she admitted. 

“And you couldn’t turn them down?”

She sighed, tucking a lock of frazzled hair behind her ear. “They all have such faith in me.” Her voice was small and fragile as she rubbed her nose. “I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

Arlo found himself chuckling, to which Elora looked incredibly embarrassed. “You know, you’ve been impressing me since you arrived. You can build, fight, repair, explore, even cook - I was starting to wonder if there was anything you were bad at.” He leaned in and flashed her a grin. “Elora, I do believe you are _ terrible _ at saying no.”

She still looked mortified, but smiled. ”Don’t worry, there’s other things I’m bad at too.”

Doctor Xu returned with a steaming cup of something that smelled sort of like grass, and probably tasted like it if Elora’s grimace was any cue. Together they sorted throughout her commissions, Arlo allowing her to keep only three. 

“What about the others?”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, rolling up the remaining sheets. “You’re ill and unable to work, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Fiddling with her three chosen commissions, Elora breathed a heavy sigh. “Thank you for this, Arlo. I owe you one.”

Standing to leave, Arlo gave her a wink. “You can return the favor by not overloading yourself again. And maybe a plate of Django’s spicy noodles.”

Elora laughed. “I think I can handle that.”

Flicking a lighthearted salute her way, Arlo left the clinic and started towards the town. He had ten people to see and explain why their commissions couldn’t be done, and maybe have a word or two with a few citizens about bypassing the commission board during the busiest time of the year.


	3. Fall 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! There is a very minor blood warning for this chapter (fight monsters, get beat up, etc). Feedback is always welcome!

Autumn sprang up with an unexpected cold front that year, blowing through the town in a night and sweeping away the stifling heat that had brought Portia to its knees. There was a sudden rush to pull jackets and sweaters out of storage, heaters to be serviced, and organization of events for the harvest festival.

Arlo had his own reasons to be antsy as he stared at his calendar, the last day of autumn circled in red ink. He’d been training all year, and now it was crunch time. He bent in half to stretch out his legs one last time, then left the Civil Corps. The sun had barely begun to peek over the mountains as he pounded the pavement, jogging a lap around Peach Plaza and then back to the Central Square, circling the Wishing Tree twice. Carol and Martha waved at him as he passed, beginning their own morning exercises.

Then he left the town and went over dirt trails, winding up along the path to the tree farm, past Duck Pond, and all the way to the beach before finally stopping to catch his breath. That was better than he’d done this time last year, which was good. It meant he was making progress, and he’d need to be better if he wanted to succeed this time.

Wiping his sweat on his sleeve, Arlo resumed his run, heading back towards town. He had time for one last loop before he needed to clean up and do his rounds. As he neared Peach Plaza, he passed Elora’s workshop, and saw her lift a welding helmet and wave at him. Arlo waved back.

\-----

The first week of Autumn saw his new routine set: wake up before dawn, glass of water, a few bites of potato cake for energy, stretch out, run. He was making it further and further every day before he needed to stop for a rest, and Arlo was determined not to let anything break his stride. Not even his birthday could keep him from his workout, though Sam and Remington made a point to take him for drinks at the Round Table that night.

It was in the second week that he passed by Elora, jogging at fairly even pace through the town with her arms full of supplies. An idea struck him and he was slowing down before he realized it.

“Elora!” She looked up at him, yelping as she nearly lost control of a bolt of fabric in her arms. “Want to go on a run with me?”

She actually slowed to a stop then, frowning in confusion. “A run? What, right now?”

“Yeah,” Arlo rested his hands on his hips, his breath already labored. “It’s the perfect season for a good long run. You in?”

She stared at the armful of materials she held for a few beats, then shrugged and smiled. “Sure, just let me drop this stuff off.”

Arlo followed her to her workshop where she dumped her supplies in a wooden chest, kicking it shut. Then they set off together, Arlo opting for a brisk jog instead of an all-out sprint so he wouldn’t leave Elora and her much shorter legs behind. They jogged through Peach Plaza, down central street, made a lap around the Wishing Tree, then back up towards the western gate. He could hear her panting as they turned onto the path that led up to the Tree Farm, but she still kept up. By the time they reached the top of the hill, Elora was wheezing, so Arlo stopped under an apple tree.

She nearly collapsed, her hands on her knees as she gulped for air. “Is that -  _ hah _ \- that your normal workout?”

Arlo nodded. “During the autumn, yeah.”

She looked up at him, her face pouring sweat as she straightened her back, wobbling on her feet. “Can’t say I’m used to that much cardio.”

Pushing up his sleeves, Arlo nodded at her. “You should run more often, it’s good for you. Want to join me again sometime? Unless this is too much for you.”

The look in her eyes reminded him of the day they sparred in the square, full of fire, fearless. Elora huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “That a challenge?”

“Perhaps.”

She jabbed a finger into his arm. “You’re on,  _ Captain.” _

He laughed. “Alright, meet me by the fountain in Peach Plaza at dawn tomorrow. I’ll start without you if you’re late.”

She nodded once in agreement, then started walking back towards her workshop. Arlo resumed his route with what might have been a tiny smile.

\-----

Elora was waiting for him by the fountain the next morning, a hint of defiance in her smirk. Arlo barely slowed down as he passed, Elora turning to join him. They made a loop around town, then back up towards the Tree Farm. This time Elora made it past Duck Pond before she slowed, coming to a halt as she panted for air.

“I gotta stop,” she wheezed. “I’m no good to anyone if I can’t move the rest of the day.”

“You made it even further today,” Arlo said as he turned back. Elora plopped herself in the grass, leaning back on her hands, her cheeks flushed red. “Same time tomorrow?”

Instead of an answer, Elora only gave a thumbs up, then flopped onto her back. 

She was waiting for him the next day, and the day after that. Arlo varied up their route, jogging to Amber Island, up to the Church, to Bassanio Lift. Every day Elora would have to stop before he was done, often nearly doubled over and panting, but he could see her endurance improving. On the sixth day of their morning jogs together, Arlo took them out to the waterfall, where Elora leaned against a rock instead of outright collapsing.

“You’re getting stronger,” he commented. “Look how much further you can go after just a week!”

Elora wiped the sweat from under her nose with the back of her hand. “I haven’t seen you train like this before now. Is it just an autumn thing, or…?”

Chewing the inside of his lip, Arlo weighed his options. He could pull a feint, or he could be honest. Elora wasn’t a stranger anymore, taking time out of her busy life to jog with him, even though she had no real reason to. Maybe he didn’t have to deflect.

“You know what the Flying Pigs are?”

She nodded. “The famous adventurer’s guild? Yeah, everyone does.”

Arlo tugged on his bandanna, pulling it down enough to reveal the Flying Pigs emblem that was normally concealed in the folds. “The entrance exam is the last day of Autumn. I’m training to join.”

Elora’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow, ambitious.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, moving to lean against the same rock she rested on. “The exam is notoriously difficult, and it’s different every year.”

She gave his arm a playful smack with the back of her hand. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

He felt himself blush a little at the compliment, but before he could revel in it, he remembered the last three years of attempts, how ashamed and inadequate he’d felt as he was handed his notice and sent home. The lies he’d told to Sam and Remington, too embarrassed to admit his shortcomings - telling them that he hadn’t made it in time, that he wasn’t picked for the lottery, that he was injured on the journey and couldn’t take part. It was a shame that still stung, haunting him late at night when sleep escaped him.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Arlo said slowly. “Truth is, I’ve already failed it several times.” She looked up at him, genuine surprise painted on her features, and Arlo had to look away. “That’s why I’m training so hard. I  _ cannot _ fail again.”

“...I see.”

They stood in silence, listening to the quiet roar of the waterfall. Arlo took in a deep breath, and upon releasing it, felt a weight shift in his chest, something heavy flowing out of him as he exhaled. “I’ve never told anyone that,” he admitted. He looked down to see Elora giving him a soft smile.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

Something warm rushed in to replace the cold hollow where he’d been keeping the terrible truth of his failure. Instead of continuing his jog, Arlo walked Elora back to her workshop, chatting about projects, food, the cooling weather. Once she was back at her tools, he jogged away to start his rounds, feeling lighter than he had in months.

\-----

Arlo’s relationship with Elora shifted after that.

The day after he’d told her of his failures, he was torn - wondering why he’d said anything at all. What had made him open up? Why had he divulged something he’d kept from even his closest comrades?

On his morning rounds one wet and dreary day, Arlo came upon the tiny builder, walking through town without an umbrella and smiling as though it wasn’t pouring on her. She spotted him and waved, and Arlo found himself waving back automatically. The answer struck him then; she was a friend. Not just the new builder, not just a citizen, but a  _ friend. _

He was catching up to her the next moment. “Hey, Elora!”

She turned, shoving some of her wet hair out of her eyes. “What’s up?”

“Do you--” Arlo paused. “Do you want to hang out sometime?”

Elora blinked, then shifted her bag. “Uh, sure! I’m free on Thursday afternoon…?”

Arlo grinned. “Sounds good. Meet me by the fountain at 1400, yeah?”

She seemed surprised, but nodded. “Will do.”

\-----

Arlo didn’t take a lot of time off.

He couldn’t, really, not when tasked with protecting a town so close to the Peripheries. The days he took to himself per year could be counted on one hand; Arlo chose to spend his downtime in smaller chunks, a lunch break here, a drink at the end of the day there. It was safer that way. Portia may have been a small town, but it still had its share of dangers.

So when Thursday came, the idea of carving out an entire two hours to not worry about it sounded nothing short of divine. Not that he disliked his job, but he’d once heard that variety was the spice of life, and a change of schedule and scenery would do him good.

Elora came to meet him promptly at 1400, with a sword on her back and a pouch strapped to her hip. “Hey!” she greeted cheerfully.

Arlo blinked. “What’s the sword for?”

Rolling up the sleeves on what almost looked like a replica Flying Pigs jacket, Elora cocked her head. “I thought it’d be fun to go ruin diving in the Collapsed Wasteland.”

He blinked again, his eyebrows going up in surprise. He’d planned for an easy afternoon, maybe lunch and a leisurely walk to the beach, but apparently her idea of a good time was taking down monsters in a sewer. Arlo watched Elora’s actions slow as she stared at him.

“Uh… or we could do something else--” she began, but Arlo cut her off.

“No, no! That sounds fantastic,” He said quickly, and it was true. When was the last time he went on an adventure just for the hell of it?

“Do you need to grab anything? Gear? Supplies?” Elora patted the pouch on her hip. “I’ve got enough medicine for both of us.”

“I’m good,” Arlo answered, motioning at the combat knife on his belt. “Shall we?”

The Sewer Ruins were much the same as the last time he’d explored them, except this time, it was for fun instead of work. They hit floor after floor, taking out Jump Dancers and Plierimps left and right. Elora seemed decently skilled with a blade, and held her own fairly well. They turned out to make a fearsome duo, clearing out rooms faster than Arlo could ever have done on his own. And it was fun, more fun than he could remember having in a long time.

By the time they ran out of supplies and agreed to leave, the sun was nearing the horizon, the town growing dark as they dragged themselves filthy and exhausted from the Wasteland. But Arlo couldn’t be bothered by it, not with his pockets loaded with gol and loot, a pleasant ache in his muscles, and a good friend laughing at his side.

\-----

Portia was a very quiet town. No major machinery or factories, no motorized transports besides the tiny Dee Dees, and the abundant trees absorbing sounds with ease. It was one of its best qualities, something that was printed on pamphlets to attract tourists:  _ Portia, a peaceful getaway. _ The most noise that ever came from the area was typically the crowd during the Winter Solstice hot pot.

So when an ancient satellite came falling from the sky and crashed into the ruins north of town, it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that it seemed like the world was ending.

Arlo was out for a jog with Sam and Remington when it happened, the resulting earthquake nearly knocking them all off their feet. Arlo didn’t even have to give a command to head to the crash site, his fellow Civil Corps members sprinting towards the Collapsed Wasteland.

It didn’t take long to assess the situation: the crashed satellite had blown a hole in a danger ruin large enough for monsters to come pouring out.

“Sam,” Arlo turned to her. “Get a builder to bring something to seal up this hole. Don’t let anyone else in!”

Sam took off as Arlo and Remington faced off against the horde. They were at it for over an hour, Arlo feeling his strength begin to wane as a Plierimp swiped a giant wrench across his mouth. He spat out blood and took the mutant down with a kick to its head, but another immediately came out to take its place. There was no way they could keep this up.

A rhythmic clanking approached them from behind. “Arlo! Remington! I’m here to seal up the hole!”

That was Elora’s voice. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

Keeping them off her while she welded the steel plates in place was no easy feat - more than once, a mutant or monster would burst through what remained of the opening, knocking Elora and her tools away. When only one plate remained, it took both of them to hold it in place, Arlo squeezing his eyes shut against the bright burn of the welding torch.

Stepping back from the sealed breech, Arlo huffed a tired breath. Could today get any stranger?

A piece of the satellite rattled, then fell away. Apparently it could.

\-----

The mayor was talking, but Arlo was only half paying attention. In the holding cell of the Civil Corps was an AI. A real AI. He’d never seen one before, only having read about them in books, and those were always described as cold, emotionless machines. But this… thing in front of him -  _ Ack _ \- was full of life. He spoke animatedly, responding just like a human would, even asking for a glass of milk.

What on earth did a machine need with a glass of  _ milk? _

Ack seemed adamant about it and refused to speak any more, so they disbanded. Arlo very much wanted to sit down and rest. His head was pounding and he could still taste blood in his mouth from the earlier fight.

“Are you alright?”

Elora was at his side with a hand on his arm. She had dirt on her cheek and the sleeve on her jacket was torn. Arlo nodded, wincing as his temples throbbed.

“I’ll be fine.”

Elora regarded him with a frown. “You took quite a beating back there.”

Her concern was a little touching, he had to admit. He wasn’t used to people worrying about him, even if the main reason for that was because he rarely needed to be worried about. Arlo smiled, patting her hand where it rested against his bicep.

“I’ve had worse, I promise.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but nodded anyway, pulling her hand back. “If you say so. I’ll go get Ack some milk. Take care of yourself, okay?”

Then she left, and Arlo was alone with Ack. Dragging himself to the nearby couches, he sat down heavily, rubbing at his forehead. He should probably go see Dr Xu and get something for his headache before going to bed, or he’d never be able to get up for his training.

It hit Arlo then: it was the twenty-third already. If he wanted to make it to Lucien in time for the Flying Pigs entry exam, he would have to leave the day after tomorrow at the latest. But now that Ack was here and they had to figure out that whole situation… there was no way. He couldn’t just leave now.

Groaning, Arlo leaned over his knees and scrubbed his hands over his face. So much for this year. He dragged himself from the couch and to the clinic with a sour feeling in his stomach.

When Arlo returned with a small paper pouch of herbal painkillers, Ack seemed in higher spirits, sipping from a bottle of milk. Elora must have come and gone while Dr Xu was fussing over him.

“Feeling better?” Arlo asked him. It felt so strange to be talking to a robot like this, but Ack only nodded cheerfully.

“Most definitely!” Ack responded, his missing leg having been replaced by a plunger, an old rusty pot on his head. “Your wife is quite kind.”

Arlo choked on air. “B-beg pardon?”

Ack’s metal mustache twitched. “The lovely young lady who fixed me up - Oh, sprockets and bolts, have I made a mistake?”

Refusing to acknowledge how hot his cheeks had gone, Arlo squared his shoulders. “Elora isn’t my wife, she’s just a friend.”

Though his mouth couldn’t actually move that much, Arlo could have sworn he saw Ack frown at him. “I guess I misjudged.”

The pain in his head pulsed, and Arlo decided to turn in. Today had had more ups and downs than he was mentally prepared for, leaving him with a bone-deep weariness and an intense desire to skip dinner and go straight to bed. Once in his room, he shucked off his gear and jacket, gulped down the medicine with a glass of water, and flopped onto his sheets, falling asleep in minutes.


	4. Winter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what the game told me: you can marry any bachelor or bachelorette regardless of your builder's gender.  
what I heard: everyone in Portia is a disaster bi.
> 
> feedback is always welcome :}

Living at the Civil Corps had its advantages and disadvantages. During the summer, Arlo’s room, which was nestled deep into the building and halfway into a ruin, stayed relatively cool thanks to the insulation of concrete and earth that surrounded it. Unfortunately, the same things that kept him from overheating during the hottest months also made his room uncomfortably cold during the winter. Very little light came through his tiny window, and the floor was often the same temperature as the freezing ground outside. Going to bed in wool socks was something he’d gotten used to.

During the first heavy snowfall, Arlo layered up his clothes beneath his jacket and set off to do his rounds. A sweltering summer followed by a deathly cold winter: such was Portia. The town, while normally quiet, was eerily silent as the accumulating snow muffled what little sound there was - except for a squeaking wheel that whined rhythmically through the streets.

Upon investigating, Arlo found Elora, pushing a wheelbarrow to the entrance of the Portia Times office. Erwa came out of the door to meet her.

“What’ve you got there?” Arlo asked from atop his horse. Elora, with a furry scarf around her neck and woolen mittens, grinned triumphantly.

“A surprise for Mei,” she answered. “She was telling me about how cold the Portia Times office gets during the winter, but they can’t afford a heater. So I built a wood burning stove.”

“Get a load of this gal,” Erwa laughed. “First she builds us a printing press, and now this!”

Arlo smiled as Elora hefted pieces of an iron stove from the wheelbarrow, blushing furiously despite her grin. Steering his horse back towards Peach Plaza, Arlo made a stop in the Commerce Guild to grab a commission form. Maybe she would be up for building a second stove so he could finally stop freezing in his own bed.

\-----

The icy weather dragged on as the pumps that fed water to the fountain in Peace Plaza were slowed. Arlo found comfort in the Round Table most nights, trying to delay going back to his frigid room. Elora had accepted his request for a stove, but she was low on materials, so he would have to wait. Sitting at his usual bar stool in the town’s bistro with a glass of Duvos punch in his hand wasn’t a bad alternative, though. From here, he could watch his fellow citizens as they gathered night after night to partake in Django’s famous hot pots. He’d even join in a few times, called over by his friends to ‘help’ them finish the food.

Elora was often there, and through his observation, Arlo learned a few new things about Portia’s newest builder. For one, she didn’t eat meat except fish, but didn’t mind if it was in the hotpot. The second was that she hated spicy food but loved sweets - the exact opposite of him. He laughed to himself. If they ever went on a date, they might want to skip having dinner together.

Another thing Arlo noticed, quite keenly, was how often Elora was with Albert. The two of them would walk into the restaurant with their arms linked at least three times a week, sometimes joined by others, sometimes just the two of them, slipping into the booth typically reserved for dates. They were always laughing as they spoke, gesturing as they told each other stories, sharing food, clinking their glasses together.

Arlo smiled. Albert was a good man, maybe a little bit of a flirt, but kind and gentle, well respected, and wealthy enough to support a family with ease. He’d make a good husband and father someday.

\-----

One sunny afternoon, Arlo had a laundry list of things he needed to take care of after lunch. He was quite sure of it - he’d written most of them down. But sitting in the private booth at the Round Table, they all left his head, blown out like dry leaves swept from a stoop.

“...Come again?”

On the other side of the booth, Nora neatly folded her hands on the tablecloth. “I’m in love with you,” she repeated.

Arlo could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed.

“...I see.”

To say that his train of thought had derailed was like saying the Western Sea was a little damp. Opposite him, Nora fidgeted.

“I’m sorry,” she started, taking her hands from the table. “I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

His nerves kicked in, flooding his veins with adrenaline. “No, no, it’s alright, I just - I’m just not sure how to respond, if I’m honest.”

Nora frowned. Had that been a cold thing to say?

“That’s fair,” she said, her eyes a little sad. “I just sort of threw that on you.”

The conversation had ground to a halt, and it was clear their lunch date was over. Arlo stood and paid the tab, then went back to help Nora into her coat. As they left the restaurant, she reached for him. Her hands were soft and delicate where they held his, her nails neatly manicured.

“I just…” Nora chewed at her lip before continuing. “I just want you to know that I’ll respect whatever answer you give me.”

She squeezed his fingers once, then dropped her hands and turned towards the hill that led to the church. Arlo stood frozen on the spot for several minutes until a cold wind made him shiver. He wrapped his arms around himself and started walking in the opposite direction, vaguely wondering if he would be able to get anything done today.

\-----

The rest of the day was a lost cause. Arlo managed to do his rounds and submit a finished report to the mayor's office, but that was the extent of his usefulness. He went back to his room early, choosing to snack a bit instead of hit up the Round Table, his appetite long gone. He’d been trying to suss out the situation with Nora all day and had gotten nowhere. He should probably talk to someone - he had next to zero experience in romance, at least in any serious context. But who could he go to? Remington was working nonstop on commissions this week, and Sam, while generally trustworthy, shared everything with her best friend Phyllis. The last thing Arlo needed was the small town rumor mill setting its sights on either him or Nora.

As he loaded a few small logs into the potbelly stove that Elora had installed for him a few days earlier, an idea struck him. _ Elora. _She was a good friend, someone he’d come to trust. Maybe she could help him sort this all out.

——-

Arlo found her just outside the eastern gate the next morning as the snow fell heavy and thick, standing quietly on the edge of the field. She turned to smile as he approached, his boots crunching loudly in the ice.

“Enjoying the snow?” He asked. Elora grinned wide as she nodded.

“There’s just so much of it,” she said, wonder in her voice as her breath fogged the air. “The most Barnarock ever gets is a dusting, and it’s gone the minute the sun comes up.”

“You know,” Arlo began, “We have a town wide snowball fight every winter.”

“Really?” She almost looked like a child with how her eyes lit up. Arlo nodded and moved to stand next to her, admiring the view. As much as he disliked the cold, even he had to admit that Portia was a beautiful sight when covered in fresh powder.

But he’d come to find the builder for a reason. “Do you have a moment?”

She paused, then nodded, and Arlo led her to a bench by the eastern wall. Brushing the snow away so they could sit, he swallowed against the sudden rush of nerves in his stomach.

“What’s on your mind?” Elora asked. Arlo took a breath.

“I sort of need some advice,” he admitted. “You see… I went to lunch with Nora yesterday, and she laid all her feelings for me out on the table.”

It happened quickly, but a shadow passed over Elora’s features for the barest of seconds. Her eyebrows went up. “Her feelings?”

Arlo‘s fingers were beginning to fidget, nerves coming through. “She said she’s in love with me.”

He told the whole story of the date, Nora’s exact words. At his side, Elora stayed quiet and still as he admitted he found Nora attractive, but wasn’t sure if there was anything else between them. When he stopped and looked at her for a reaction, Elora’s lips were pressed into a thin line.

“Well…” she began slowly. “Do you think the two of you are even compatible?”

Arlo blinked. He hadn’t even thought of it that way. He was a Civil Corps captain, an adventurer, a fighter. Nora was a university student and missionary. He was all rough edges, where she was soft and gentle. He frowned. “Now that you mention it… perhaps not.”

“Then maybe it’s not a good idea.” Elora was speaking slowly, like she was choosing her words with care. “You could have a real mess on your hands if you try to be together and it ends up not working. And,” she paused. “If you don’t love her back, wouldn’t that just be leading her on?”

Arlo chewed on her words. Part of him didn’t want to admit it, but Elora had a good point. Nora worried enough about him as it was - if they were together, he might feel forced to change his life to suit her, and even with his lack of experience, he knew that was a recipe for disaster. “You’re right,” he sighed. “Nora is a nice girl, but she and I are very different people with different lives.” He turned to Elora with a tiny smile. “Thanks for your help.”

Patting his arm, Elora smiled. “No problem.”

He brushed off his pants where the snow had gathered. “Besides, when it comes down to it, I’ve no time for romance in my life.”

He stood, Elora following his lead, and Arlo saw the shadow in her eyes again, just barely there before she blinked it away. “What makes you say that?”

“I’m one of the protectors of Portia,” Arlo explained. “It’s a full time job and then some, plus I’m training to join the world's most prestigious adventurers guild.” He shrugged. “I’ve nothing left of myself to give to a lover.”

Elora openly frowned at that, shrugging. “If you think that’s best.”

\-----

Though he did feel better after his conversation with Elora, Arlo still carried some jitters with him through the day. He would talk to Nora tomorrow and let her down gently, and that would be that. It was for the best, he kept telling himself, but a shadow of doubt still lingered in his mind, sapping his energy. By the time he returned to the Civil Corps after sunset, he was worn out, and went straight for the flask he kept in the cabinet.

Sitting on the couches in the common area, he opened it and took a sip. Arlo didn’t make a habit of letting himself drink too much - bad for the body - but his rushing mind could probably use a little help quieting down, or he’d never get to sleep.

He was just starting to feel the warmth of his drink when Remington returned, stomping the ice from his boots by the entry. He caught Arlo’s eye and stopped, one of his thick eyebrows arching high.

“Everything alright?” Remi asked, unbuckling his bag and slipping it from his shoulders.

Arlo nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Shrugging, Arlo motioned at the lounge chair to his left, and Remington settled into it with a sigh. After a minute or so of silence, Remi spoke up.

“So what’s eating you?”

Arlo leaned back against the cushions. “Who says something’s eating me?”

Remington chuckled. “You only break out that flask when something is.”

Glancing down at the steel container in his hand, Arlo groaned softly. Remington always had a talent for reading people, and Arlo was caught. Seeing no point in avoiding the topic, he relayed the story of Nora for the second time that day.

“I’m going to turn her down,” he said, taking a sip from the flask, then offering it to Remington. His friend took it and sipped.

“Well, one, you have terrible taste in bourbon,” Remi said, handing back the flask. “And two, I think that’s exactly what you should do.”

Doubt poked at Arlo’s mind. “I can’t help but feel a little bad. Nora is a nice girl.”

“_Nora _ is barely eighteen,” Remington countered. “Five years your junior. And she’s only supposed to be a volunteer here for another year or two before going back to Atara to finish at the university.” He looked Arlo up and down, who shrank a little under his gaze. “Besides, does she even really _ know _ you? Outside the stories you tell her? Do you really know her?”

Arlo screwed the cap back on the flask. What did he know about Nora, other than the obvious? He grimaced; the answer was ‘next to nothing.’

Remi took his silence for an answer. “Sounds more like a case of hero worship than actual love to me.”

The words made Arlo freeze in place. _ Hero worship. _ He knew that feeling intimately, having experienced it himself twice in his life - first at the lieutenant in charge of his Civil Corps training, a stunning man called Adrien with hair like spun gold and the greenest eyes Arlo had ever seen. He’d fallen hopelessly in love, or at least that was what he thought as a naive seventeen year old away from home for the first time. He never spoke a word of it, stopped mostly by the shining wedding band on the lieutenant’s finger. It wasn’t until a year later that he realized what it really was, just admiration combined with a teenage crush. The second time was when he first met Mali, the sheer commanding power she radiated capturing Arlo’s attention like a steel trap. But she quickly put him in his place, and his crush died away.

Both of these instances mirrored his current situation more than he wanted to admit, only this time, he was on the other side. “Yeah,” Arlo admitted out loud. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Remington nodded. “Tell her soon. Don’t lead the poor girl on.”

Arlo huffed a laugh. “That’s what Elora said.”

“Elora?” Remington seemed surprised. “You asked her about it?”

He hauled himself up from the couch, wavering slightly. He’d had too much if he was this lightheaded. “Yeah, she was rather helpful about the whole thing.”

Remi gave him an odd look. “Oh? And what about Elora?”

Arlo frowned. “What about her?”

Raising an eyebrow, Remington made a show of examining Arlo, scanning his face several times over. Then he shook his head, stood, and grabbed his bag. “Nothing,” he finally said. “Get some sleep, Arlo.”

Something was amiss, but with his head swimming the way it was, Arlo didn’t have it in him to pursue the issue. Instead he retired to his room, where the small stove had made the space comfortably warm, and changed into his night clothes. Tomorrow he’d turn down Nora, then go about his life. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but sometimes that was how things had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (when Arlo asked me for advice about Nora in the game, I had literally purchased the heart knot to give to Arlo the day before and had in my inventory when he asked me, so I was SHOOK. So yeah, Elora had something in her pocket that later got tossed in the bottom of a closet.)


	5. Spring 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter for descriptions of violence. Not very graphic, no blood, but a heads up just in case.
> 
> Thank you for all the wonderful feedback! I didn't expect such a response and I'm floored. ♥

Arlo didn’t see Elora much as winter melted into a wet and rainy spring, except in passing. She seemed to be spending a good deal of time in the mines, hauling bags of ore and relics out of the abandoned ruins on the hill behind the Civil Corps late into the night. He’d offered to help her once, but she declined with a smile, hefting a sack over her shoulder and walking away.

She was always busy, and when she wasn’t, she was usually with her friends, mostly Albert. Arlo would see them often laughing together, sometimes speaking in low voices beneath the Wishing Tree. He was happy for them, but he couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment in his chest. It was true that he didn’t have time for romance, he’d resigned himself to that fate - but it didn’t change the fact that a part of him longed for that kind of connection with another person.

On a sunny morning when the chill was finally gone from the air, Arlo visited Elora’s workshop to deliver a commission from the mayor. He’d meant to simply put it in her mailbox and be on his way, but she was out in her yard, tending what looked to be a plot of sprouting lettuce.

“Morning,” he called. Her head popped up from among the weeds and she smiled.

“Morning!” Elora stood and took off a pair of dirt covered gloves. “What’s up?”

Arlo waved the envelope. “Got a job for you.”

Blowing the hair out of her face with a puff, she took the envelope and opened it. After a few seconds of reading, her eyebrows went up. “Oh! I have one of these in the house.” She dashed for her front door, and that was when it occurred to Arlo that it looked different.

“Did you… get a new house?” He asked, following her. It definitely wasn’t this big before.

“Got an expansion,” Elora answered. “I found out the hard way that old shack wasn’t exactly built for the winter.”

She opened the door and went inside, leaving Arlo in the doorway. Her home had definitely been expanded, with a separate room to the left and a tiny kitchen in the corner. It was mostly unfinished, though, the walls covered in unpainted drywall. Boxes and crates of random things were scattered about, and the small bed in the other room appeared to be the only piece of real furniture.

“Ah-ha!” Elora pulled her hand from a crate she’d been searching, holding up a shining blue stone, then she stood and rejoined Arlo by the door. “Found it. It’s probably for Ginger, she loves making jewelry.”

Gesturing around her home, Arlo grinned. “Still settling in?”

Elora froze, then flushed a brilliant pink. “Er, yeah,” She laughed nervously. “I figured I’ve been here a year, maybe it was time for an upgrade. Haven’t had much time to decorate, though, with the Portia Bridge project starting.”

‘Upgrade’ was almost an understatement. What was once a tiny dilapidated shack was now a wide living space with rows of windows, hardwood flooring, and a vaulted ceiling. It needed a coat of paint, to be sure, but it was well on its way to being a rather handsome home.

“It’s weird,” Elora said, her voice a little lower than before. “I never even lived on my own before coming to Portia, and now I own a house and land. A year ago, I’d never have thought this was possible.”

Arlo hummed as a thought occurred to him. “What _ were _ you doing before you came here?”

She paused, turning the sapphire over in her hands. “I was studying history and communications at Barnarock University.”

“You left school?” He frowned. It didn’t seem like something she would do.

“It wasn’t for me anyway,” she sighed. “I’d been looking for an excuse to leave long before I heard about this place.”

Something in her voice was guarded, and Arlo had a feeling he shouldn’t press the issue. If she wanted to share her past, she would when she was ready. “Are you happy here, then?” He asked.

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his for several moments until she smiled softly.

“Yeah,” Elora answered. “Yeah, I am.”

As he left, Arlo felt a spring in his step as he made a detour to Best Brother to put in an order for a sofa. Elora had taken time to make his room feel more like a home with the stove she built for him, and with the commission bonuses he’d been receiving since she moved to town, he had the money to return the favor.

——-

That spring, it seemed, was determined to be nothing but rain. The construction crews that were brought in from Atara to assemble the bridge worked as best they could, but some days the rumbling of thunder would chase them away from the bridge’s metal surface. All the builders of Portia worked day and night to supply the materials, and even the perfectly pressed Higgins could be caught stomping through the mud to deliver ironwood planks or steel cables, refusing to be outdone. Arlo thought he heard him mumbling about “the upstart” and laughed quietly to himself. It wasn’t hard to figure out who he was referring to.

The bridge also brought in a new citizen, Mint, a quiet man from Vega 5 who bore the countenance of someone who rarely rested, despite how often he’d slip into a catnap while sitting upright on a bench. From the little that Arlo spoke with him, he seemed a kind fellow, if a bit shy.

It took a few weeks for the bridge to be completed. At the ribbon cutting ceremony, Arlo did his best to look happy, but the only thing on his mind was the desert before them. The area that he and his Corps members were responsible for had effectively doubled overnight, and Arlo had to wonder if Mayor Gale had taken that into account.

The days were slowly becoming hot as focus shifted to the Eufaula Tunnel and securing access to it. Arlo, Sam, and Remington took turns escorting Mint and his team to the area, following on horseback as one of the long haul buses was commandeered to bring supplies to stabilize the structure. Mint was impressively skilled for his age, able to do complex calculations entirely in his head and assess many of the mine’s underlying issues at a glance. Perhaps that was why he appeared perpetually sleepy - the level of focus he’d display when at work was nothing short of extraordinary.

It was on the sixth day of construction that Arlo felt a tremor, something he’d brushed off as his imagination the first few times. Mint immediately called for a full stop of the operation, grabbing a mishmash of tools and materials from the supply crates. Within minutes he’d assembled a makeshift seismic table, a pencil rigged up to scribble whenever the ground shook.

“I think I might need a second opinion,” Mint mused as he went over the graphs. “Are there any other engineers in town?”

Arlo shook his head. “Pretty sure that’s why Gale called you in. Our builders handle most things in Portia.”

“Right.” Mint yawned wide, rubbing at one of his eyes. “A builder, then. Anyone you’d recommend?”

Only one face came to Arlo’s mind, and he grinned. “Absolutely.”

  


——-

Three days later, Arlo temporarily deputized Mars and Paulie as all three Civil Corps members headed for the desert tunnel with Mint. He stationed Remington outside to wait for Elora, then led the way into the mines with Sam and Mint. The gauge that Mint had built was still working, the pencil scraping across the paper in tiny strokes.

“I don’t like this,” Mint grumbled as he bent over the machine. “We can’t continue until we find the source of these tremors. If I had more advanced equipment here, I could probably triangulate—“

He stopped short as the scraping of the pencil quickened, the lead flying back and forth across the page. It was all the warning they got before the cavern around them gave a violent lurch, shaking with enough force to knock Mint to the ground. Rocks and debris rained down on them, and Arlo’s eyes widened in horror as a huge section of the ceiling rumbled, the newly placed supports groaning under the weight.

He watched in slow motion as the beams snapped, turning away just as boulders came loose, falling straight for them. It felt like he was moving against water as he shoved Sam further into the cave with one arm and grabbed Mint with the other, flinging them both as far as his strength would allow. Then he dove, tucking and rolling, folding his arms behind his head and neck.

His body bounced twice before coming to a stop, and Arlo braced himself. A deafening loud crash echoed around him.

Then nothing.

He waited a count of five to open his eyes. He saw only darkness, blinking and taking a breath. He inhaled dust and coughed, scrambling to pull his bandanna over his mouth and nose.

“Sam?” He called, looking around. The only light he could see was a tiny bit of sunlight peeking through the wreckage. “Mint?”

He heard a groan from somewhere at his left. “I’m okay,” Sam called back. He heard shuffling in her direction.

“Mint?” Arlo called for him again. The silence that answered made his blood run cold. “Mint, are you okay?”

A sudden light made him squint, lifting a hand to cover his eyes. Sam came to his side with her flashlight, shining it around the space. In a corner they spotted a white shirt.

“Mint,” Sam gasped, running for him. Arlo joined her, reaching Mint and turning his body over. He was covered in dust and dirt, the right side of his forehead wet with blood. He groaned pitifully in Arlo’s arms, who breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He was still alive, at least.

Arlo took the flashlight as Sam fished some emergency supplies from her bag; a bandage, a small pouch of some kind of gel, and pills. He kept the light steady as she cleaned and bandaged Mint’s head wound.

“Learn that from Phyllis?” Arlo jabbed. Sam only smiled, though it was tight.

“One of the perks of being besties with a doctor.”

Mint stirred as she worked, his eyes fluttering open. “Ow,” he breathed. “What happened…?”

“Cave in,” Arlo answered. “How do you feel? Anything else hurt?”

Before Mint could answer, the rocks shifted, and both Sam and Arlo tensed. Another tremor now would likely crush them all.

“Arlo?” Came a faint voice from somewhere. “Sam?”

“That’s Remington,” Sam breathed. Arlo clamored to his feet and went for the rocks that blocked the entrance.

“We’re here!” He yelled. “Remi?”

“Thank goodness,” Remington’s yell was muffled by the boulders that separated them. “Sit tight, we’ll get you out!”

Just as he felt his shoulders relax at the promise of a rescue, a low screech came from somewhere behind them, followed by the distant sound of skittering claws. Arlo gulped.

“No can do, Remi,” he called out. “Mint’s hurt, and I don’t think we’re alone down here.” He glanced back at Sam, who nodded, her expression dark. “We’re going to look for another way out!”

Arlo thought he could hear people talking on the other side of the rocks, but it was impossible to make out any words. “Okay,” Remington called. “We’ll head into the mine and see if we can find another way!”

“Right. Be careful, Remi!”

“You too!”

Then he heard the faintest sound of footsteps moving away. Arlo turned back to Sam and Mint, who was now sitting up, Sam lifting her canteen to his mouth. “We should get moving. Mint, can you walk?”

Mint nodded, but crumbled as soon as he stood. Arlo handed the flashlight to Sam, then turned and hefted the engineer onto his back, who was surprisingly heavy despite his thin build.

“Alright,” Arlo cocked his head towards where the ground sloped down. “Sam, take point. Let’s get out of here.”

——-

They were walking for nearly thirty minutes before they found light, shuffling into what they assumed was the old Ingall Mine. Some of the electric lights still worked, so at least they wouldn’t be completely dependent on Sam’s small flashlight.

Arlo set Mint down to rest and stretch his back, his lower spine popping in several places. He was definitely going to be sore tomorrow.

“Thanks,” Mint said, his voice weak. “I think I can walk now.”

Arlo eyed the bandages on Mint’s head, grimacing at how they were tinged pink. “You sure?”

“Yeah. The medicine Sam gave me is working, it doesn’t hurt as much.”

Arlo considered his options. Letting Mint walk could slow them down, but probably just as much if Arlo continued to carry him. At least this way, his hands were free to fight if he had to.

As if on cue, a slithering came from the next room, followed by a low hiss. The sand on the floor moved, shifting away to reveal a pair of wide, milky eyes. 

Arlo cracked his knuckles as Sam slipped on her gloves.

——-

Their progress definitely slowed as they went from walking through the tunnels to fighting through them. The first cave worm that came at them was like a dam breaking, more and more of them flooding out of the cracks in the stone. Sam and Arlo left piles of corpses in their wake, and Mint, thankfully, was quite adept at getting out of the way.

Though fighting the creatures wasn’t a strain in and of itself, being trapped for this long was taking a toll. Sam’s watch was broken during the cave-in, but even without it, he could tell they’d been underground for several hours. They’d emptied Sam’s water canteen a while ago, and between the dry, dusty air and the sweat from exertion, Arlo knew he was becoming dehydrated. His mouth and throat were parched, his head beginning to pound. Sam seemed to be in the same boat, panting softly as she took out another worm.

“I see a door!” Mint pointed across the way, where a metal door with a glowing panel sat. Arlo glanced around. It was either stay here and keep fighting this endless swarm of cave worms, or risk going through an unknown door.

Mint groaned and clutched at his head. Staying here was definitely not their best option.

“Go for the door,” Arlo ordered. Sam snagged Mint by the elbow and jerked him along, slamming the door panel with the flat of her palm. It hissed open and they piled through, Arlo punching the panel on the opposite side as soon as they were clear. It slid shut with a whine, and just as a lock clicked and engaged, something banged on the other side.

Arlo turned and leaned against the wall beside the panel and closed his eyes, breathing hard. If they made it out of this alive, he was treating himself to the biggest, spiciest noodle bowl Django could make.

“Arlo.” Sam’s voice was flat, making him snap to attention. He pushed off the wall and walked over to where she and Mint stood stock frozen, then looked up.

Near the ceiling, half concealed by darkness, a giant machine hummed. Long arms gripped at the rock face, claws as long as he was tall digging into the stone as though it were butter. In the center of its body a single eye glowed red, first still, then moving around the room until settling on the spot where they stood.

Arlo swallowed against his dry, ragged throat. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

“Mint,” he slowly put out his arm to gently push Mint back. “Get into the corner and keep your head down.”

“That’s it,” Mint whispered as he took a step back. “That’s what’s causing the tremors.”

The machine whirred, gears grinding, then let itself drop from its perch by the ceiling. It landed with a thud that shook the whole room. It loomed over them, at least twenty meters tall, the eye in the center of its three appendages pulsing as it focused on them.

“I’ll keep it busy,” Arlo said, raising his fists. “Sam, find an exit and get Mint out of here.”

“Arlo?” there was panic in her voice that made his pulse quicken.

“That’s an order, Sam!”

The machine took a step forward, and Arlo shuffled to his right, trying to lure it away from the others. It worked, the glowing eye turning towards him and away from Sam and Mint. Arlo took a steadying breath. He didn’t want to die here, but it was better him than all three of them.

Despite its size, the ancient machine was _ fast, _ and Arlo had trouble ducking away from its clawed arms. It nearly grabbed him once, almost ripping the left sleeve of his jacket clean off and leaving a long gash on his bicep. He was slowing down, there was no way around it, and he’d barely even scuffed the surface of the thing. Arlo dug as deep as he could to pull whatever energy he had left, wishing silently that he could have had one last hot pot.

A yell echoed from somewhere above him, just before a figure came crashing down on the machine’s eye, landing a fist against the tempered glass that covered it.

Green hair and dark skin. Arlo could have cried in relief. “Remi!”

Remington punched at the glass several more times, then leapt away as something else came falling from the catwalk above them. A hammer smashed into the top of the machine, the glass casing around its eye splintering into a web of cracks. Arlo’s eyes followed the hammer to the figure holding it, and his breath caught in his throat.

Elora.

Wielding a Corps Hammer that was as big as herself.

He was so distracted by the appearance of the tiny builder that he missed the clawed fist coming for him. It slammed into Arlo’s chest and sent him flying away, rolling in the dirt. He rose to his hands and knees on autopilot, but as soon as he did, the pain hit him. He gagged and choked, the air knocked clean from his lungs, a sharp throb beating in time with his pulse on his left side. Arlo dimly registered that his ribs were bruised, maybe even broken, but all he could do was gasp for air, watching his sweat and saliva drip onto the ground below through blurred vision.

When he could breathe again, Arlo looked up to see Sam, Remington, and Elora fighting the machine together. Elora took another swing at the glass on its center with her hammer, and it finally shattered, exposing the eye. Remington took to it with his fists, smashing the delicate equipment inside. The machine shook violently, lurching, then collapsed into the dirt as sparks popped from its joints. The lights along its arms and inside its center died, and the sound of whirring machinery slowed to a stop.

Arlo hauled himself to his feet with a grunt, and saw Sam give the dead machine an angry kick for good measure.

\-----

Outside of the tunnel, the sun had already set, painting the sky a rich blue. Mayor Gale came rushing up to meet them, and behind him, Dr. Xu, Phillys, and a long haul bus. They were all handed canteens as they explained what had happened inside the mines, Arlo letting Sam do most of the talking as he greedily gulped down water while Phyllis wrapped a bandage around the cut on his arm.

They loaded onto the bus, all of them exhausted and aching, as Xu tended to Mint, laying him out on the bus seats. The rest of them sat, Arlo hissing as he leaned into the chair. The bus gave a gentle heave as it started off towards the city, moving slowly through the sand.

Arlo knew he would need to write up a report, but it would have to wait until morning. All he wanted when he got back to the Civil Corps was to take a shower and go to bed. He was starting to doze when a weight shifted against his right shoulder, and Arlo looked down to find Elora leaning against him, out like a light.

He smiled. She was just as filthy and sweat-drenched as the rest of them, one of her hands still curled around the handle of the Corps Hammer that rested on the floor of the bus.

“Remind me to buy her a drink,” Remington said, sitting in the seat across from them. Arlo looked up to see his old friend gesture at the builder beside him. “I don’t think I could’ve made it through that mine alone.”

From against his shoulder, Elora mumbled something in her sleep. Arlo chuckled quietly. “That so?”

Remington nodded. “A miniature powerhouse, that one. You should offer her a job at the Corps.”

Now there was a thought, but Arlo was too tired to ponder it further, leaning back against Elora as the bus lumbered on.


	6. Summer 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm going to be playing with the canon elements of the game to add a few things. So far there are no major plot spoilers, but be advised that will change in future chapters! I plan on covering most of the main plot, and I will tag spoilers at the beginning of each chapter.
> 
> [I've also drawn some art! Mostly Arlo. Like 90% Arlo.](https://preservedcucumbers.tumblr.com/tagged/My-Time-at-Portia)
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for all your wonderful comments! ♥

It took nearly three weeks for Arlo’s bruised ribs to heal.

In that time, he was under strict orders from Doctor Xu to take it easy, no exercise - a tall order, given his usual routines, but Arlo actually withered under the small physician’s powerful glare. Xu, he’d learned, while normally quite kind, was not a man to be argued with when it came to health.

He needed pain medicine nearly every night for the first week, the aching on the left side of his chest too much to sleep through. Sam and Remington were in far better shape after their ordeal in the mines, and thankfully they were able to pick up the slack. Mint’s head wound healed quickly, but he became even more withdrawn than he’d been before, speaking even less and spending long hours pouring over blueprints at the Research Center. And Elora, who’d come to the rescue along with Remi, seemed to bounce back almost immediately, and Arlo found himself pondering Remington’s suggestion to her a job. She could certainly hold her own.

On the tenth, as Arlo had a cold drink at the Round Table bar, the builder in question came through the door with a bouquet of flowers in her arms. Sonia stopped polishing drink glasses and rushed to greet her.

“El!” She cried, throwing her arms around Elora’s neck. “Happy birthday, girl!”

Laughing, Elora hugged back as best she could with the flowers she held. “Thanks, Sonia.”

He blinked, setting his drink down. Her birthday was today?

Sonia took Elora by the arm and led her to the nearest booth. “Honey, where’s Albert? I figured he’d be with you!”

Elora set the flowers aside and sat. “He’s out at the South Block construction site. There’s too much to do right now to celebrate, I just came in for a drink before heading out there myself.”

Pouting, Sonia put her hands on her hips. “Boo! You know what they say about all work and no play. The two of you had better come in soon for a treat, right now you’re the only double birthday in town.”

“I’ll drag him in here soon,” Elora chuckled. “Could I get a red tea on ice?”

“Of course!” Sonia said, then walked back to the bar. At the booth, Elora took a pad of paper out of her bag and plucked a pencil from behind her ear. She began writing, her eyebrows pinched together in concentration. Her hair, which had been as short as his when she’d first arrived, was now long enough to pull into a stubby ponytail at the back of her head. Arlo picked up his drink and walked to her, lightly knocking on the booth with his knuckles.

“Mind if I join you?”

She blinked up at him, then gestured at the opposite seat. “Sure.”

He slid into the booth. “Your birthday, huh?” Turning towards the bar, Arlo called out to Sonia. “Can I get a piece of black forest cake over here?”

Sonia grinned wide, nodding. When he turned back, Arlo found Elora frowning at him. “I thought you hated sweets?”

He sipped his drink. “It’s for you. Can’t have a birthday without cake, yeah?”

She sat in silence for a moment, then laughed and tucked her notepad away. “Thanks.”

Sonia returned with a glass of iced tea and a perfect slice of cake, complete with a tiny wax candle. Elora laughed and blew it out.

“You gotta promise none of this ‘too busy to celebrate’ nonsense next year,” Sonia chided. “I wanna make you and Albert the biggest cake I can.” The waitress winked, then went back to the bar to continue polishing glasses. Elora lifted a forkful of dessert to her mouth and sighed happily around it.

“You and Albert?” Arlo asked. Elora nodded, swallowing her bite of cake.

“We have the same birthday,” she explained. “When we found out last year, we hit it off right away. He was probably my first friend in town.”

Arlo smiled as she returned to her dessert. That certainly was an adorable way to begin a romance, he had to admit. Builder and Contractor, both fun loving and easy going, together responsible for most of the recent city development, and sharing a birthday to boot - it seemed like a match made in heaven. At least, Arlo was fairly certain that was where they were headed, if they weren’t there already. 

“Don’t know how you can stomach all that sugar,” Arlo commented lightheartedly as she polished off the slice of cake.

Elora wiped her mouth with a napkin. “And I don’t know how you can stomach all that spicy food, so I guess we’re even.” She gathered up her things and stood. “Thank you for the cake. I’ve got to get back out to South Block to take some measurements, they’re going to need a generator and a water tower out there.”

“Always working,” Arlo commented, taking a sip of his drink. She shrugged, grinning.

“That’s the builder life, I guess. But I really love it, you know?” Elora sighed and hugged the flowers she held. “I’ll see you later!”

Then she left, waving goodbye to Sonia as she went. Arlo stayed in the booth, swirling his drink in his glass. If she was happy, then maybe there wasn’t a point in trying to get her to join the Corps. He shook his head and chuckled to himself, throwing back the rest of his drink before fishing a pile of coins from his pocket to pay the tab.

\-----

When Arlo awoke one morning to find no pain in his ribs for the first time in weeks, he stretched out, left his jacket in his room, and went for a long run. His stamina had waned during his recovery, but it still felt good to take a few laps around town as the summer sun rose slow and lazy over Portia. He made a stop at Duck Pond to splash his face with water, then continued down to the beach, stopping once more before deciding he was done.

He took a slower pace up the path that led back to town, and as he neared Elora’s workshop, he saw her leading a horse into the yard and slowed to a stop.

“Morning,” he huffed, putting his hands on his hips. Elora jumped in surprise, then smiled.

“Hey! Feeling better?”

Arlo nodded, staying on the outside of the fence, very much aware of the sweat that soaked through his shirt. “Much.” He gestured at the horse that Elora held by the reins. “You rent that from McDonald?”

Elora beamed. “Nope, she’s all mine.” She stroked the horse’s neck. “I’ve always wanted one, but it’s hard to own a horse when you live in a big city. I finally have room.”

The horse in question was a midnight black mare, her coat glossy and smooth with a neatly combed mane and deep brown eyes. She was sleek and strong, with pale pasterns and a single white patch in a starburst shape on her forehead. “She’s beautiful,” Arlo commented. “What will you name her?”

“Starlight,” Elora responded, cooing at her new steed. “My mother used to tell me a fairy tale about how the stars were carried into the sky after sunset on the back of a celestial horse.”

Arlo smiled. “A fine name. Be sure to show her affection every day to earn her trust.”

Nodding, Elora led her new horse to a simple stable on the other side of her yard - a new addition, it seemed. Arlo smiled as he resumed his jog to the Civil Corps for a much needed shower and change of clothes.

\-----

The Martial Arts tournament was tempting, and normally Arlo would sign up - but one leveled stare from Doctor Xu had him reconsidering. He could stand to sit it out for one year - he’d won the previous tournament, after all, even if it had been by a hair against the shockingly tough Russo.

As summer drew to a close and the oppressive heat began to lift, Arlo found Elora in a booth at the Round Table, a half-eaten salad plate in front of her as she sifted through a stack of documents. It was mid afternoon and the bistro was nearly deserted, most of the townsfolk having already had lunch and returned to their duties.

“Do you ever take a break?” he laughed as he approached her seat. She looked up from her paperwork, giving him a lopsided smile.

“Sometimes.” Elora picked up her fork and took another bite of salad. “There’s just a lot to do while South Block is still under construction. I was thinking of going camping, actually.”

“Camping?” Arlo slid into the opposite booth seat.

She scribbled a note in the corner of one of the papers she held, then shuffled them into a neat stack. “Yeah, I’ve heard that this is the best time to go stargazing. Now that I have a horse, I can get far enough out to really see them.”

Arlo hummed, tapping his chin. “True, but it’s still not entirely safe outside the city. Not that I don’t think you’re capable of defending yourself,” he added quickly, “But you shouldn’t go alone.”

Elora stared at him, her mouth drawn tight in a pout for a moment before her expression brightened. “How about you join me, then?”

He blinked. _ Camping. _ Arlo loved camping, he always had. Sleeping under the stars with nothing but the hum of nature around him was his idea of true peace. It also meant an entire night off - when was the last time he took that much time away from work? He took great pride in his position, that was no secret, but Sonia had made a good point earlier that month - all work and no play. Maybe he was due for another vacation.

“I think I can do that,” Arlo answered with a smile.

\-----

It took a few days to work out a night off, making sure that the town would be safe without him for sixteen hours, but when that Saturday came, Arlo was nearly giddy as he packed a small bag and a bedroll onto his horse. Confident he had supplies to deal with anything they might encounter, he set off to meet Elora by the Eastern Gate.

She was waiting for him, standing beside her horse and chatting with Martha. Elora’s face brightened as he approached, and together they rode to the Bassanio Lift, taking it up to the heights and past WOW Industries, taking a slow and steady pace through the hills. A light wind blew through the trees, cool and comforting, signaling the approaching autumn.

“I think this is my favorite time of year,” Arlo commented. “Not too hot, fewer tourists, good fishing.”

“Good camping, too?”

He laughed. “I certainly hope. I haven’t been camping in a long time. What about you?”

She smiled. “I’ve never been at all.”

“Never?” He found that hard to believe - from what he’d seen, she was very much at home with the outdoors. “Your parents didn’t take you camping?”

Sadness flickered over her features as she stared out into the distance. “I lost my parents when I was young.”

He gasped softly, then turned his gaze to the reins in his hands. “...I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she waved her hand. “It was a long time ago. Besides, Barnarock is mostly mountainous desert. Not exactly ideal camping conditions.”

Looking up, Arlo saw her smiling, to his relief.

After another half hour of riding, they found an even patch of grass where the trees didn’t block the sky, and decided to set up camp. Arlo put up the simple lean-to tent he’d brought, though he doubted they’d need it in this warm, clear weather, while Elora dug out a shallow hole in the dirt for a fire. They chatted as they worked, discovering a shared love of noodles and a strong dislike of potato fruit. As he gathered twigs and sticks for kindling, Arlo could feel the tension bleeding out of his shoulders and back that he hadn’t realized he was carrying. Elora was easy to talk to, and he found himself being more candid than he normally would, laughing a little louder than he had in a while.

As the sun began to creep towards the horizon, they walked to the waterfall to catch their dinner, throwing back at least a dozen tiny fish before finally snagging a good sized Golden Salmon. Back at camp, Arlo used his knife to gut and clean the fish while Elora began a stew over the fire, piling in mushrooms, layered carrot, corn and rice. The salmon was stuffed with herbs and lemon slices, then put over the fire to cook.

While they waited for the food to be ready, Arlo told a story of his first danger ruin expedition, how he’d gotten his boot stuck in a drain pipe and had to leave it behind and go on with one foot in nothing but a sock for the second half. He’d never shared that particular detail with anyone, but Elora laughed long and loud, her face going pink as she wiped away tears at his expense. Arlo laughed too, at his younger self, the embarrassment having faded into amusement over the years.

Twilight surrounded them as Elora spooned the finished stew into bowls, Arlo portioning out fish to split between them. Before he could put a spoon to his meal, Elora plucked something from the base of the fire and set it on the side of his bowl. He blinked down - it was a chili pepper, freshly roasted. He looked to her in question.

“A compromise,” she said, raising one eyebrow.

A warmth spread through Arlo’s chest at the kindness of the gesture.

They ate as the stars began to peek out of the darkening sky, choosing to finish their food quickly so they wouldn’t miss any. Arlo rushed their empty bowls to the river to rinse them out, and returned to find Elora smothering some of the fire to block out the light.

“I’m not used to being able to see this many stars,” she said as she unfurled her bedroll. “The light pollution in the city I’m from makes it impossible to spot all but the brightest.”

Arlo copied her, rolling out his sleeping mat a few feet away. “It’s a little different out here in the country.” An idea came to him. “Hey, I want to show you something. Lay down and close your eyes.”

She frowned a little in confusion, then shrugged and did as he asked, stretching out on her back with her eyes closed. Arlo did the same, waiting a few beats, remembering how his father would use this trick when they went camping, and how it worked every time.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

He could hear the moment she looked up by her deep intake of breath. Above them was an ocean of lights, an endless and wide glittering cascade of stars. A glowing ribbon of sparkling light cut through the darkness, surrounded by twinkling white and blue.

“It’s incredible,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen a sky like this. I feel like I'm going to fall in."

Arlo hummed in agreement. “This is one of the reasons I love Portia,” he said quietly. “The night sky doesn’t look the same anywhere else.”

“I feel like I could actually find constellations.”

Pointing up, Arlo drew a circle with his finger. “There,” he said, pointing to the northern edge of their view. “The Lion. Can you see it?”

It was a few seconds before she responded. “Yeah, I think I see it.”

Together they pointed out constellations as the sky turned lazily towards the west. They traded folk stories and fairy tales about the stars, Arlo admitting to his brief obsession with space as a child, how fascinated he was that the ancients could build ships capable of traveling to the moon and back. It seemed almost impossible now.

Elora’s responses became shorter and more quiet as he talked, until finally ceasing altogether. Looking over to her bedroll, Arlo found her fast asleep, her breathing soft and even. Smiling, he silently got up and fetched the light blanket he’d brought, carefully draping it over her, then returned to his own sleeping mat, tucking his hands behind his head to admire the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I'm playing on the Nintendo Switch, so I might leave out details that are currently PC only.  
\- I did name my horse Starlight in the game, though I chose the white horse.  
\- My builder's birthday is Summer 10, and I found out the first year by randomly giving Albert a gift on that day that he and my builder shared a birthday!  
\- Why is everyone in this town obsessed with spicy food ffffffff  
\- Arlo continues to misinterpret nearly everything. Someone save this man. Mostly from himself.


	7. Fall 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! As of this point, there are going to be some minor game spoilers. Thank you for all of your wonderful comments!! ♥

On the first day of Autumn, Arlo sprang from his bed an hour before dawn, wide awake, a restless itch under his skin. He quickly dressed in loose fitting clothes and stretched out, stopping to eye the calendar on his wall. The last day of the season was circled in red.

Glass of water, a bite of potato cake, and he set off for his run. Nothing was going to stop him this year.

The city of Portia didn’t take long to wake up in the early days of fall, and by the time Arlo would begin his trip back to the Corps for a shower, at least half the town was out and about, sweeping their front steps, opening shops. The tourists would begin arriving in droves within a week, and now that the motel on the other side of the Portia Bridge was open, there was even more lodging to accommodate them. Arlo suspected this would be a particularly busy season.

Between the increase in his daily tasks and his early morning runs, Arlo was passing out at ten every night, barely managing to shrug out of his clothes before falling into his bed. Over the last few months, he’d taken to having chats with Nora by the well - mostly just him telling stories of some of his more impressive adventures to an attentive audience. Nora seemed to greatly enjoy the short time they spent together, but now that it was fall, he’d told her not to wait up for him anymore. He just didn’t have the energy.

While doing his last round of evening patrols as the sun finally dipped below the western mountains, Arlo rode his horse up Main Street in a gentle walk. Many of the shops were beginning to close as the day wound down, the town alight with the steady buzz of conversation and footsteps. Nearing the Round Table, Arlo spotted Elora waving at him from the sidewalk.

“Hey,” he said, tugging the reins to bring his horse to a stop. “What’s up?”

She wore a grin that rivaled the cheerfulness of her bright red jacket. “Have you had dinner?”

“Not yet,” he answered. Truthfully, these days he was doing most of his eating in the mornings after his run, choosing only light meals in the evening.

“Well,” Elora gestured at the bistro behind her. “Can I treat you? For your birthday?”

Arlo blinked. Then blinked again. Was it the fifth already? He thought back to his calendar and did a bit of mental math. “It  _ is _ my birthday,” he shook his head with a chuckle. “I’d completely forgotten.”

“Oh my god,” Sonia’s drawl came from behind them, and both builder and captain turned to where she leaned against the columns in front of the restaurant. “You forgot your own birthday?” She raised an eyebrow at Elora. “You’d better take care of this man, he’s a mess.”

He could almost feel insulted by that, if he didn’t know Sonia as well as he did. She didn’t mean any harm, and Elora laughed, her cheeks gaining color. “I’ll try,” she said.

Arlo sat in the saddle for a few beats, pondering. “Dinner would be lovely,” he decided, dismounting and tying Spacer to the nearest tree. He followed Elora into the Round Table, where they sat in an empty booth. She encouraged him to order whatever he wanted, and for a moment he thought about ordering the supremely spicy spaghetti - but then remembered how much Elora hated spicy food, and opted for the seafood noodles instead.

They laughed and chatted as their supper arrived, Elora pointing to a small bruise on her forehead and explaining that a large fish snapped her fishing line, the rod recoiling and slapping her right in the face. Arlo nearly choked on a bite of lobster as he laughed, beating a fist to his chest as he reached for his drink, his eyes watering.

He expected her to order a dessert for herself, but instead she asked for two glasses of Duvos punch. After Sonia brought out their drinks, Elora reached into her bag that sat beside her in the booth.

“Here.” she held out a small wrapped package, tied in a neat yellow ribbon. “For you.”

Arlo slowly took it, the gears in his head grinding. A gift? Usually his birthday meant a drink or a plate of food. When was the last time someone gave him an actual gift? He pulled at the ribbon, watching the bow unfurl and fall away, unwrapping the off-white paper to reveal a small box. Lifting the lid, he peered inside to find a multi-function knife, shiny and brand new.

“I…” Arlo took out the knife and opened it, flicking out the various blades and tools it contained. The perfectly polished metal gleamed under the lamplight of the bistro. “...Thank you,” he breathed, at a loss for any other words.

Elora’s smile was full of warmth. “Happy birthday, Arlo.”

Once their drinks were empty, she paid the tab, and Arlo walked her to the edge of Peach Plaza with his horse beside him. He thanked her again and bid her goodnight, watching her walk halfway to her workshop before hefting himself into the saddle to ride home. Birthdays weren’t usually a big deal for Arlo, but he would definitely be remembering this one, from their shared laughter to the weight of the knife in his pocket.

  
  


\-----

  
  
  


The next week, Arlo was rushing towards the Eastern Gate as the sun rose, fully dressed and buzzing with energy. Mayor Gale had received the telegram three days ago and passed it along to Arlo immediately, who’d pinned the paper to his calendar and had hardly been able to sleep since.

It took all his willpower not to bounce on the balls of his feet as he spotted the plane on the horizon. The Colorful Llamas that dotted the hills scattered as the roar of the aircraft came closer, touching down on the road and rolling to a stop next to the gate. Arlo raised his arm and waved as the propeller blades stopped, the pilot opening the door and jumping down effortlessly onto the grass.

Short black hair with a streak of gray and striking red eyes that could have pinned him from a mile. Mali was just as beautiful as ever, tall and imposing despite her cheerful smile.

“Arlo,” She nodded at him. “It’s been a while.”

“Hello Mali,” he responded, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood as straight as possible. “Welcome to Portia.”

She laughed, the sound like wind chimes in a breeze. “You mean welcome back, this isn’t my first time here. Been years, though. You got my telegram?”

Arlo nodded once, stepping aside and gesturing to the town beyond the gate. “Yes, ma’am. Mayor Gale is waiting to meet you.”

As she passed, Mali gave him a dismissive wave. “No need for the formality, Arlo. There’s no Lucien council breathing down our necks here.”

He walked her through town, a few citizens waving as they went. Mali stopped at Martha’s bakery, drawn in by the scent of fresh bread, and Martha offered her a sample of fruit roll with a sweet smile. Mali nibbled as they resumed their walk. “Looks like this city is just as welcoming as ever.”

“That’s Portia,” Arlo responded, nodding a good morning at Issac as they passed. “We take hospitality very seriously here.”

“So I’ve come to understand.” Mali licked the fruit jam from her fingers and raised an eyebrow. “The dossier I read before flying out said you’ve got a new builder in town.”

She meant Elora, of course, and Arlo grinned despite himself. “That we have, and she’s quite skilled.”

“So you’d recommend her, then?”

They reached the mayor’s office, and Arlo moved to open the door for Mali. “I most certainly would,” he told her. Mali smiled as they went inside the office together, closing the door with a click.

\-----

  
  
  


Their meeting with Gale lasted less than an hour. Mali’s mission in Portia was straightforward: investigate the ruins on the Western Plateau. The issue, of course, was that it was currently inaccessible since a small mudslide destroyed the natural hill that led to the area years ago, leaving nothing but a sheer cliff behind.

“I’ll go see that new builder of yours in the morning,” Mali said as she stretched her arms over her head. “If she’s as good as you say, she should have no problem building us a lift.”

Arlo fell into step beside her as they crossed through the park. “I have no doubt of that.”

“For now,” Mali cracked her neck, “I would like to relax. I’ve been buried in paperwork for the last month.”

Smiling, Arlo saw his opening, and cleared his throat to keep the excited tremor out of it. “How about a spar?” he asked. “A little exercise should help you unwind.”

One of Mali’s perfect eyebrows arched high as she stopped walking and turned to face him. She sized him up, scanning him up and down, and Arlo nearly shrank. She wasn’t quite as tall as he was, but he knew her strength - she might as well have been a giant.

“You sure about that?” Mali asked.

The last time Arlo had sparred with her was over a year ago. He wasn’t the same man he was then. “Absolutely,” he answered.

“Fair enough.”

He led her outside the town, out the Eastern Gate and along the wall until they reached an even patch of grass just past Papa Bear’s house. Mali yawned as he rolled his right shoulder, adrenaline already flooding his veins.

“First one to have their ass hit the ground loses?” Mali proposed. Arlo grinned and nodded, dropping into a defensive pose.

She flashed him a sly smile, the air around them still and silent for the tiniest breath. Then, with the power and speed of a freight train, Mali darted across the grass at him. Arlo did his best to sidestep, but was only partially successful, her closed fist clipping his right arm. She didn’t pause at all, turning her hand to point her fingers towards his chest to jab his ribs, and Arlo just barely managed to raise his left forearm in time to block it.

Knocking her arm down and away, Arlo punched towards her shoulder, and he might as well have been punching a brick wall. Mali didn’t flinch in the slightest, coiling her arm around his elbow and yanking upwards to break his focus. One of her legs went for his ankle to take him out, and it was a miracle that he managed to twist out of her grip before she could throw him down.

He would like to think that they spent the next ninety seconds trading blows, but Arlo knew better - he was barely keeping himself upright against her attacks, and it was only a matter of time before he would find himself overpowered. The finishing blow came as an open palm to the center of his chest, Arlo unable to block or deflect. It sent him flying backwards, landing hard several feet away, sliding on the grass.

He stared up at the blue sky and white clouds above him, blinking away the spots in his vision. He hadn’t even lasted three minutes against her.

“Not bad, Arlo,” Mali’s voice was laced with amusement as her footsteps approached. Hauling himself off the ground, Arlo groaned, feeling all the bruises that would surely be black and blue tomorrow. He looked up to find Mali’s hand, outstretched to help him up. He took it and let her pull him to his feet.

“I didn’t stand a chance,” He lamented, rubbing at the back of his sore neck.

Patting his shoulder gently, Mali smiled. “No, you didn’t. But you’re a lot stronger than you were the last time we sparred, I can tell.”

The tiny morsel of praise warmed his cheeks. Mali motioned back towards town. “Now how about some lunch? I haven’t had decent seafood in years.”

Arlo grinned wide. “That can certainly be remedied.”

  
  


\-----

  
  


Two hours later, Arlo sat across from Mali in the furthest booth at the Round Table, the tablecloth littered with empty plates. She had ordered every seafood item on the menu, much to Django’s delight, promising to pay handsomely for her indulgence. Arlo was almost uncomfortably full from his attempt to keep up with her, pushing his bowl of unfinished salmon stew away.

Mali hummed in delight as she polished off her second smoked fish roll. “I need to look into relocating closer to the ocean,” She commented. “The only fish you can get in Lucien are scrawny, tasteless river trout.”

“One of the best aspects of Portia,” Arlo leaned back in his seat. “Never a shortage of good seafood.” He thought of Lucien, of the entrance exam. He wouldn’t be able to eat like this once he got in, since it likely meant having to move away from Portia for duty.

“You still thinking of trying for the Flying Pigs?” Mali asked. Arlo’s eyes snapped up to her, wondering if he’d said his thoughts out loud - but no, Mali was just that perceptive.

“Yes,” he answered, straightening up. “I’m not giving up.”

Mali swirled her glass in her hand, leaning back in the booth. She was silent for a long moment before she spoke again. “I’m going to level with you, Arlo.”

The tone of her voice was like a punch to the gut, the sort of voice a parent uses to gently scold their child. He could already hear what she was going to say, feel it like a storm rolling in on the horizon, the air becoming thick and heavy around him. A petty, childish part of him wanted to get up from the booth and run away so he didn’t have to hear it. But he wasn’t a boy anymore.

“You don’t think I’m cut out for the Flying Pigs,” Arlo said in a low voice, the defeat coming through no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He stared at the tablecloth, noticing motion at the edges of his vision as Mali set down her glass.

“The opposite, actually,” she said. Arlo’s head snapped up to find her leaning on her elbows over the table. “You’re _ exactly _ the kind of man the Flying Pigs are looking for.”

He frowned deeply, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he could speak. “Then why do I keep failing the exam?”

Instead of answering right away, Mali lifted her glass and emptied it in one gulp. “How old are you now, Arlo?” she asked as she set the glass aside. “Twenty three?”

“Twenty four,” he corrected quietly. Mali nodded.

“Do you know what I was doing when I was your age? I was being promoted to captain in the Lucien Civil Corps.” she paused. “I was also failing my first Flying Pigs entrance exam.”

His jaw might as well have hit the table with how fast and hard it dropped. Failed? There was no way. The idea that Mali - the living legend, indestructible, a hurricane shoved into the body of a woman - could fail at  _ anything _ was nothing short of absurd to him.

She seemed to take great delight in his shock, smiling as she motioned to Sonia for another drink. “I failed my second one, too,” she added. Arlo sputtered.

“T-that’s - you can’t be -”

“I’m serious,” Mali said, nodding a thanks as another glass was set on the table. “Do you think I was born this strong? Or that I got this way overnight?” When Arlo didn’t respond, she continued. “It took a long time.  _ Years. _ I trained hard, I never gave up.”

Arlo tried to imagine a younger Mali, inexperienced and naive, and it just didn’t add up in his brain. He’d only ever known her as the stalwart person that sat before him now.

“The only real difference between us, Arlo, is  _ time. _ Not strength, or talent, or skill.” Her voice was firm, but warm. “We have a lot in common, you and I, but I’ve been at this since you were in primary school. I just have more experience, that’s all.”

He could tell that her words were meant to be encouraging, but in the presence of his mentor and hero, Arlo cowered, feeling so small.

“My point,” Mali motioned at him with her glass, “Is that you’re not ready  _ yet. _ But you will be, if you keep at it.”

His jaw was working, but Arlo didn’t know what to say. Part of him felt utterly crushed like an ant beneath a boot… but another part of him glowed at the praise hidden in her words. His hero thought he was good enough, or at least that he  _ could _ be. “What do you think I should do, then?” he asked, inwardly cursing at how tiny and fragile the words sounded.

Mali chuckled a little. “The average age for Flying Pigs inductees is over thirty, Arlo.” She paused to take a long sip of her drink. “I think that you should forget about getting into the guild for now and focus on your work. Protect Portia, keep training, keep challenging yourself. Give it a few years, then try again.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I’d wager you’ll find the exam to be far less challenging if you do.”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Arlo sat heavily in his seat, mulling over her words. Mali eventually got up, squeezing his shoulder with her hand once before paying the tab and leaving. He stayed behind, surrounded by empty plates and glasses. _ Time. _ He had to give himself time. He didn’t want to - he didn’t want to put his dreams on the back burner, but the level-headed part of him knew that she was right, and he would do well to follow her advice.

Arlo lugged his heavy body from the seat and slowly made his way back to the Civil Corps to fetch Spacer and begin his daily rounds, his mind taking the rest of the day to quiet itself.

\-----

  
  


The detailed survey of the area surrounding the Western Plateau began the next morning. Arlo and Remington did a quick round of the city before meeting Mali near the cliff, just off of Duck Pond. She’d set up a wooden table with maps and charts, intent on expanding their understanding of the area.

Mali made a few notes in the corner of a map with a pencil. “I went and saw that new builder of yours,” she commented. “She said she can build us a lift, but I’m wondering if something this big will be too much for her.”

Chuckling, Arlo crossed his arms over his chest. “I have faith in Elora. She’s quite dependable.”

Mali raised an eyebrow. “I trust your judgement. She’s just so….  _ Small.” _

That got a hearty laugh out of Remington. “Don’t let her size fool you,” he said with a grin. “That little lady is one tough cookie.” Arlo nodded in agreement.

“Really, now.” Tapping at her chin with the blunt end of her pencil, Mali hummed to herself, lost in thought for a moment. “Well, we’ve got work to do, gentlemen. I suggest we get at it.”

  
  


\-----

  
  
  


It took Elora less than a week to finish prep on the lift, and one cloudy morning she arrived at the building site, her horse pulling a borrowed wagon full of beams and parts behind her. She waved hello to Arlo and Remington where they stood by the pond, and after speaking briefly to Mali, reached into the wagon and hefted a giant hardwood beam up onto her shoulder.

Arlo suppressed a laugh at how Mali’s eyes widened. The beam was easily twice as tall as Elora, but she carried it to the cliff with minimal effort. While she was looking away, Mali pointed at her several times, then gave a thumbs up, clearly surprised at the builder’s strength.

It took Elora the rest of the day to build the lift, which pleased Mali greatly. Arlo, however, found himself concerned for her, and swung by Django’s to grab her an order of noodles and stewed mushrooms to help her refuel. When he arrived at midday with the covered containers in his arms, Elora was sitting in a makeshift rope swing several feet above the ground, welding a steel bracket in place. She extinguished her torch and lifted her welding helmet when Arlo called her name, her face covered in soot.

Descending quickly, Elora beamed, rushing to the edge of the pond to wash up. When she returned with a clean face and hands, she took the containers from Arlo and sat on the grass. “Oh my god, thank you. I didn’t even realize how hungry I was.”

Arlo crouched beside her as she shoveled mushrooms into her mouth. “I know Mali is pressuring you to get this done quickly, but don’t overwork yourself, yeah?”

Elora looked up at him, her cheeks stuffed with food, a bit of sauce on the side of her mouth. She looked so ridiculous that Arlo couldn’t help the laugh that he snorted at the sight, dropping his head to giggle quietly. He heard her huff indignantly and worried he offended her, but when he peered up, she was smiling wryly.

“Sorry,” she wiped the sauce from her face with the knuckle of her thumb. “When I get  _ really _ hungry, table manners sort of go out the window.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Arlo promised, standing. He gave her a quick two finger salute before turning on his heel to head back to his survey duties.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Two days later, Mali announced that she was heading into the ruins they now had access to, and that she was taking Elora with her.

A small part of Arlo wanted to argue, almost on reflex, a knee jerk reaction. He smothered it and nodded his approval, knowing two things: Elora could handle herself, and that there was no safer place in the world then by Mali’s side.

The two women left for the ruins just after breakfast the next day. Arlo went about his usual business, trying to ignore the strange restlessness in his stomach. He had more energy now that he’d traded his rigorous autumn training regimen for something lighter, choosing a short jog as the sun rose instead of a long, draining run. He argued with himself in his head about it from time to time - one side of him roared in defiance, demanding he not give up, while the rational, mature part of him willed it to quiet down, promised he wasn’t quitting, just changing tactics.

In late afternoon, Mali and Elora came trudging into town, carrying with them something large and boxy that was covered with a tarp. After delivering it to the Research Center, Mali looked like she’d barely broken a sweat. Elora, however, leaned over with her hands on her knees, exhausted.

“Let’s go get some dinner,” Mali suggested, patting the builder on the back. “You did great in there.”

Elora shook her head, straightening up. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather go home and just go to bed.”

“Fair enough.”

As she walked with a slight limp towards the Eastern Gate, Elora waved at Arlo, exhaustion lining her features. He watched her go as Mali came up to him.

“Don’t suppose you’d humor me? I’m not fond of eating alone.”

He jerked like he’d been shoved, surprised to find Mali at his side. Shaking off his surprise, Arlo smiled. “Sure.”

The inside of the Round Table was buzzing with activity, Sonia and Django rushing around with drinks and plates of food. The owner of the restaurant seemed thrilled to see Mali again, and Arlo had a feeling it was due to her tendency to spend a fortune on food at every visit. She did just that, treating them both to bowls of rice, spicy tofu, smoked ribs and fish salad. Having learned his lesson the last time, Arlo didn’t attempt to match Mali plate for plate this time, stopping after his third helping.

“You were right about that builder,” Mali said as she tossed a bare rib bone onto a plate with several others. “She’s tough.”

Arlo laughed as he relaxed in his seat. “That she is. The first time I ever hung out with her, she wanted to go  _ ruin diving.” _

“Oh?” Mali was giving him an odd look, one corner of her mouth ticking up. “Sounds like quite the catch.”

Arlo’s cheeks went warm, and he reached for his glass of bitter melon mix to shoo it away. He supposed Elora was a catch; friendly and adventurous, brave and hardworking. And lovely, too - Arlo wasn’t blind, he could admit that she had a gentle beauty about her, anyone could. She’d make someone very happy someday.

“She seems to hold you in high regard,” Mali commented, swirling her drink. Arlo frowned briefly, then shrugged and smiled.

“Elora is one of my best friends.” Saying it out loud made Arlo realize how true it was. Over the last two years, he’d gotten to know the novice builder well, and in her he’d found someone he could be himself with. Elora had become a sort of safe house for him, a friend around whom he could let his walls down. The number of people he had like that in his life were few, but she’d easily slotted herself into the ranks with her easygoing smile and red hot tenacity.

Mali leaned forward and studied him, her lips pursing as she scrutinized his face. Arlo resisted the urge to squirm under the laser focus. “Best friend, huh?” she asked, something flashing in her red eyes. “Well, be sure to hold on to her. She’s one in a million.”

Nodding, Arlo took another sip of his drink. “You’re right about that,” he said quietly, staring at the punch in his glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mali's thoughts during the entire last scene: b o i


	8. Winter 2 part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More minor plot spoilers in this chapter. Wow, year two is almost over! It would be a shame if something happened.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! Thank you for reading ♥

Mali was recalled to Lucien on the first day of winter. Arlo and Sam saw her off, waving as her plane soared over the Eufaula Desert and disappeared into the distance. As he returned to his rounds soon after, Arlo felt like a weight had been lifted from him, the burden of the Flying Pigs exam no longer simmering in the back of his mind. It had taken a bit of time, but he’d managed to convince even the most stubborn part of himself that it was for the best, and now he felt peace, the stress of it gone from his life.

Business in Portia seemed to settle down, at least until Gale called Arlo, Albert, Mint, and several builders into his office to discuss building a proper harbor to increase trade business. The mayor only had the barest of ideas: expand the wharf, add a lighthouse and a crane, construct buildings for storage and trade. Albert seemed thrilled by the idea, as did Mint, and the two immediately teamed up to tackle the design and contracting of the project.

It all seemed highly ambitious - and expensive, from what Arlo could tell, but Gale assured them that he had secured funding with a coy wink. Portia had undergone more growth in the last two years than he’d seen during most of his life. He cast a glance at Elora, bent over a map of the area as she discussed logistics with Albert, and smiled. There was a definite correlation between her arrival and the sudden spark of vitality the town had gained.

  


\-----

  


When asked to escort a special guest into town from the docks, Arlo wasn’t sure who to expect.

It certainly wasn’t _ Musa. _

Arlo stared, frozen in the saddle of his horse for several seconds as Musa disembarked from the boat and strolled leisurely up the pier. Anyone who had ever read a paper knew who Musa was, his face often accompanying articles about economic growth. So this was the ‘funding’ that Gale had secured - he’d convinced the richest man in the free cities that Portia was worth investing in.

Taking a deep breath, Arlo dismounted his horse and put on his most professional demeanor, wishing he’d worn a pair of jeans that were slightly less torn.

“Mister Musa,” he greeted, arms folded behind his back. “Welcome to Portia. I’m Arlo, leader of the local Civil Corps.”

“Mister Arlo, yes!” Musa’s smile and voice were warm. “I read all about this town, seems like quite the idyllic place!”

Arlo motioned at the path behind him. “Mayor Gale has requested that I escort you to the city. You’re welcome to use our Dee Dee system, if you’d like.”

Musa waved him off with a grin. “To be honest, I’d like to walk. Ocean travel is so stifling, plus I’d like to enjoy the countryside, if I may.”

“Certainly, sir.”

With Spacer walking beside him, Arlo guided Musa up the path to town. The man seemed downright enchanted by the scenery, despite the thin layer of snow and ice that covered the landscape, turning it a dusty gray.

“Beautiful land out here,” Musa sighed.

Arlo smiled. “You should see it in the summer when the wheat fields are ripe.”

Giving hearty laugh, Musa nodded. “I hope to!”

They passed Elora’s workshop, where she was out in her yard, which looked to have been recently expanded. She raised her head from an advanced skiver and waved. Arlo waved back, as did Musa, as they continued on to the mayor’s office.

  


\-----

  


As friendly as he was, having Musa in town, casually wandering the streets and eating at the Round Table, put Arlo a little on edge. Not that he saw the man himself as any kind of threat, but more that he was concerned _ for _ Musa. Did someone of his status have enemies? What if they took his time in a quiet frontier town as an opportunity to attack? Arlo shared his concerns with Remington and Sam, who seemed to share his sentiment. They agreed to be extra vigilant as long as Musa was in town. If this man was investing in Portia’s future, then they owed it to him to ensure his safety during his visit.

Mister Musa seemed greatly interested in the annual Snowball Battle as a thick blanket of snow began to cover the town. The citizens of Portia quietly doubled their efforts to make the town as charming as possible, Arlo noticed, winter wreaths popping up on doors and pathways swept clean at all times.

Elora seemed to be working overtime, no doubt from commissions and favors lobbed at her from the townsfolk. She only laughed it off.

“It’s fine,” she assured Arlo as she fed wooden logs into one of her furnaces. “It’s just a lot of small orders. I think everyone wants to impress Musa while he’s here.”

Leaning over the wooden fence that surrounded her yard, Arlo cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And what about you, then?”

Elora pointed at the line of industrial furnaces, all burning. “I’m providing almost all of the steel and aluminium for the harbor project. If that doesn’t impress him, then I give up.”

He chuckled, straightening up to continue his rounds. “Well, don’t wear yourself out. I expect a challenge during the Snowball Battle.”

Her only response was to bend over, gather up a wad of snow in her bare hands, and chuck it at him halfheartedly. Arlo dodged easily, laughing as he went on his way.

  


\-----

  


That year’s Snowball Battle might have been the best yet.

What was usually a laid-back mishmash of loosely organized snowball fights had been turned into an outright tournament with brackets and prizes, and even a separate battle for the children. Banners and streamers lined the field where the battles took place, lit with strings of colorful lights. Carol set up a booth by the wishing tree where she sold furry scarves and mittens made from waterproof cloth, while next to her, Martha peddled freshly baked cookies that she kept warm a small iron pot set over a bed of coals. Outside the gate, a bonfire was lit, surrounded by log benches as Qiwa and Tody stocked a variety of discounted smoked meats to roast over it. Even Django joined in, offering free cups of hot coffee to help residents warm themselves between bouts. It was an event that rivaled the Solstice, and Mister Musa, who was undoubtedly the cause, took great delight in the festivities.

As he browsed the new stalls, Arlo recognized some of the things he’d seen Elora hard at work on - the waterproof cloth that Carol used to make her goods, the iron pot that Martha kept her cookies in, the steel container that Django dispensed his coffee from.

The builder in question hadn’t entirely kept her promise to not exhaust herself. While she managed to participate in a couple of rounds of snowball fights, her posture was slumped, her eyes red-rimmed and tired. When Arlo’s turn for a break from duty came, he led her to the bonfire, sat her down with a mushroom skewer, then went back into town for a cup of coffee and a cookie or two.

He sat beside her, offering her a cup. “I told you not to overwork yourself.”

Elora took the coffee and cookies, shifting the skewer rod between her knees so she could free her hands. “Eh, it’s fine,” she said, taking a bite and a sip. “I mean, look.” she jutted her chin in the direction of the battles, which were still going strong, the air around them full of the sounds of joyful laughter as snowballs sailed through the air. “Everyone is having so much fun, and I got to contribute to it. That’s enough for me.”

Arlo stared at her as she munched on her sweets, stopping to sip from her coffee cup every so often. She was happy just to help others, an aspect of her personality he’d known for some time, but it shone more brightly that day than it ever had. A slow smile split his face. “You really are something else,” he spoke softly, just loud enough for her to hear.

Elora stopped chewing, her cheeks turning even more red than the chilly winter air had already made them. She gazed up at him, then turned her eyes down, smiling bashfully. “Thanks,” her voice was soft. “I think you are, too.”

They sat in silence as she ate, listening to the children shout and cheer as another round of battles began. Once his break time was over, Arlo patted her on the shoulder and stood, smiling as he left to do his rounds.

  


\-----

  
  
  


After two weeks of relative calm, the day of the Winter Solstice arrived, and Portia erupted into another city wide celebration. Arlo spent days preparing the city’s safety protocols so that he could enjoy himself, bringing an armful of chili peppers to add to the communal hot pot. This was one of his favorite holidays for several reasons, most notably a seemingly never ending supply of spicy solstice stew.

Django and Dawa were lighting the fire under the giant metal basin when he arrived in Central Plaza, setting his peppers on Emily’s table and scanning the area. Citizens were trickling in, many wearing their nicest clothes, greeting each other cheerfully. It was a bitterly cold day, snow falling in a thin but steady sheet around them. Perfect hot pot weather.

“Still on duty?”

Arlo turned to his right to find a woman standing next to him, and he had to blink a few times to recognize her. It was Elora, but instead of her work clothes, she had donned a fancy cable knit sweater and a long pleated skirt, suede boots, and a beautifully woven white shawl draped over her shoulders. Her hair was neatly gathered into twin braids that wrapped around her head, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was even wearing a bit of makeup.

“What,” she grinned. “Don’t recognize me without overalls?”

He saw the opportunity for a jab and couldn’t resist. “I’m sorry, who are you?” He held his hand up to her height. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. Builder girl, about yay tall, usually has a pickax and dirt on her face?”

Elora lightly slapped his arm with the back of her hand. “Hardy har, Arlo.”

“I’m kidding,” he laughed. “You look very nice.” And it was true, she was lovely - Arlo didn’t know if he’d ever seen her dressed up at all, so used to seeing her in soot covered clothes and a welding mask.

She blushed. “Thanks.”

He eyed the bag that was slung over her shoulder, bulging slightly against its contents. Arlo noticed it the year before, Elora passing out gifts despite the major gift giving holiday in Portia being The Day of Bright Sun. “You giving out presents again?”

“Yeah.” She adjusted the bag. “It’s how we do it in Barnarock, so it just doesn’t feel like a proper solstice to me without it.”

“I doubt you’ll find anyone opposed.” He waggled an eyebrow. “Got something in there for me?”

He’d meant it as another joke - Arlo didn’t need a gift beyond a calm day. But she waved a finger at him, a coy grin on her lips. “You can wait your turn,” she said, winking before walking to where the children were gathered by the gate, building a snowman. Arlo watched her hand out candied apples and apricots, a gesture that earned her a hug from Mars’ and Carol’s daughters. He tracked her across the plaza, passing out small gifts; glass pendants, colorful ribbon, bottles of punch and trinkets made with crystal and topaz. She even stopped to speak to Higgins, and though their body language was clearly tense, they shook hands. To Ginger, who was bundled up in at least three coats, Elora offered a book with a fancy gold and leather cover.

By then, the Hulu brothers had banded together to pour gallons upon gallons of soup base into the hot pot basin, the fire beneath it roaring hot. It quickly began to boil, sending a cloud of fragrant steam billowing through the plaza. Arlo’s mouth watered as he retrieved his bundle of chili peppers, determined to make this year’s stew as tongue-searing as possible.

Mayor Gale announced that the hot pot was officially ready, and the entire town cheered as they made a rush for bowls and spoons. Meat and vegetables were dumped in while Django gave the soup calculated stirs with a giant wooden spoon. Near Emily’s produce stall, Martha brought out a basket of fresh bread rolls and jugs of milk, handing them out to anyone who needed reprieve from the spicy heat. Arlo deposited his peppers and waited a good ten minutes before digging in, scooping heaps of meat and fish into his bowl. When he went to the other side of the hot pot for a second serving, he saw Elora and Alice, laughing as they tried in vain to eat the spicy stew. Arlo opened his mouth to poke fun at them, but Elora held up her spoon.

“Don’t,” she laughed, her eyes watering. “I’m _ trying.” _ Beside her, Alice put down her bowl, defeated, and made a brisk walk towards the bread and milk.

“You should eat spicy food more often,” Arlo offered. “Build up a tolerance.”

Alice returned and handed Elora a bread roll. “Sure thing,” Elora said as she sniffled. “Just make sure to write ‘death by chili peppers, it’s was Arlo’s idea’ on my tombstone.” She then dug into her bread with gusto, her face pinched in mock irritation as Arlo laughed.

  


\-----

  


The hot pot slowly emptied as daylight began to wane and every bench became occupied by three or more people, everyone full and happy. Carol had all three of her daughters dozing beside her, with Dolly in her lap, sound asleep. This year’s snowball fight would likely be more subdued than usual if the drowsy atmosphere of the plaza was any indication.

“Hey, Arlo, can I have a minute?”

Elora was beside him, her hands clasped behind her back. Arlo nodded, allowing her to lead him between buildings to the park, deserted and quiet.

“I was kidding about a gift,” Arlo said, feeling sheepish. He really didn’t expect anything today, even if she’d handed him a cut of dried meat with red pepper last year. Shaking her head, Elora just grinned, turning to face him.

“I know, I know. I do have something for you anyway, though, if you’ll accept it.”

He nodded, watching as she reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out her hand, her fist tightly closed. When she opened her fingers, Arlo momentarily forgot how to breathe.

It was a heart knot, brilliant red against the creamy white of her sweater. They stood in silence for several seconds.

Then Arlo _ laughed. _He didn’t mean to, it just came out, bubbling up from his chest before he could contain it. Because there was just no way - Elora had Albert, didn’t she? This was another joke, one of their back-and-forth gags that had become a regular part of their friendship. She stared up at him with wide eyes, blinking rapidly.

“Okay, that’s a good one,” he continued to laugh, rubbing a finger under his nose. “You almost had me for a second there!”

She blinked, looking from the heart knot in her hands and back to his face. “...I…”

“Oy, Arlo!” Qiwa’s voice came echoing through the park, both of them turning to find the youngest Hulu poking his head around the side of Carol’s shop. “Snowball battle’s starting, you owe me a rematch!”

Grinning wide, Arlo sidestepped Elora towards Qiwa. “Need another taste of defeat, eh? I’m happy to serve!” After he took a few steps, he turned back towards the builder. Her expression was blank as she held her clenched fist to her chest. “Keep that sense of humor, Elora!”

Exiting the park, Arlo’s boots crunched over the fresh snow.

  


\-----

  


It was an hour later, long after his rematch with Qiwa ended in another victory, when Arlo was approached by Albert near the Eastern Gate. “Arlo!” The contractor put on his brightest smile. “Can I have a word?”

Albert led Arlo back to the Wishing Tree, the central plaza now devoid of people as the town enjoyed a rousing snow fight. “What can I do for you, Albert?” Arlo asked, as cheerful as could be.

Albert let his smile drop and glared up at Arlo, his stare commanding despite the considerable difference in height. He pulled his hands from his expensive leather coat, his fists balled up. “You can start by apologizing to Elora.”

Arlo’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Apologize? For what?”

Albert threw up his arms and dropped his voice into a harsh, angry whisper. “For humiliating her! She offered you a heart knot, and you _ laughed in her face!” _

“What?” Arlo’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “But she -”

A chill ran through his body as he thought back to the park. He _ had _ laughed. “I…” Arlo swallowed hard. “I thought she was just playing a joke on me.”

“Who in the world offers a heart knot as a _ joke?” _ Albert quietly roared.

Arlo sputtered. Something wasn’t adding up. “That’s - but what about you? I thought she was your girlfriend!”

Albert’s eyes went wide. “What? No! She’s my best friend, but that’s it!” He dared to swat Arlo in the arm to make a point. “Look, mate, if you don’t return her feelings, that’s one thing. But you didn’t need to break her heart like that!"

Arlo didn’t respond, still processing. Elora had been serious. She’d offered him a heart knot. That meant that she --

“Oh.” He ran a hand through his hair, an uncomfortable ripple of dread going down his spine as the pieces clicked together. How Elora had led him away from the crowd. Her wide, expectant eyes when she’d held the token out to him, the tremor in her voice when she said she had a gift for him, _ if he’d accept it. _

“Oh, no, I - shit - I have to find her --”

Albert grabbed his arm before he could walk away. _ “Don’t,” _ he growled. “Not right now. Give her some time, she’s very upset. But,” he squeezed Arlo’s bicep. “You’d better make it up to her.”

Arlo nodded. Albert released his arm and straightened his vest, huffing an irritated breath that fogged in front of him in the freezing air. “I’m not a fan of finding my dearest friends crying alone on holidays, Arlo.” Then Albert walked away to rejoin the snowball fight.

Silence descended over the empty plaza. Arlo went to the nearest bench in a daze and sat, lost in thought until the sky above him was dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so if anyone was wondering how my first attempt at asking Arlo out during my year 2 solstice celebration went... now you know (°◡°)


	9. Winter 2 part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a chapter count now! Though it might change in the future.
> 
> Thank you for reading, everyone! The comments on the last chapter gave me so much life. This winter chapter was what inspired the entire fic, so I'm glad you enjoyed! ♥

After the Solstice, Arlo knew he had to apologize and do it soon, but Elora had seen fit to make herself scarce. He caught glimpses of her loading her horse and riding off towards the desert a few times, unable to reach her before she was well out of town. Otherwise she was like a ghost, leaving her home first thing in the morning and not returning until late at night, where she’d go straight inside her house and shut the door.

At a loss for what to do, he made the mistake of asking Sam for advice - and while he tried to be as vague as possible, she pried the information from him as easily as candy from a baby. As Arlo recounted the story of the Winter Solstice, Sam frowning deeply at him, straightening her back and giving a perfect salute.

“Forgive my insubordination, Captain.” Then she punched his arm. _ Hard_. “Talk to her, for cripe’s sake!”

He should have seen that coming. Remington just rolled his eyes.

After a few more failed attempts to catch Elora, Arlo figured he would have to take a more direct approach, so one evening he waited by her door. She’d been out all day again, only ducking in and out of the commerce guild once that morning and flitting off before he could get within twenty feet. It was nearing midnight when she finally rode in atop Starlight, dismounting and removing the saddle and gear. Arlo watched her haul several bags full of loot and ore towards her crafting table, and gulped. It had been a long time since that sparring session where she almost outlasted him, and he’d seen her win more than a few rounds at the martial arts tournament since then. She was probably strong enough to take him down if she_ really _ wanted to.

She didn’t notice him in the dim light until she nearly ran into him, reeling back in surprise. Arlo gave an awkward wave.

“Hi.”

Elora looked him up and down, then nodded. “Hey.”

The silence between them was harsh. “Um.” Arlo fidgeted. “Can I talk to you?”

She blinked at him, then looked away, pressing her lips into a line and nodding. “Yeah, uh. Can I meet you at the Round Table in ten? I need to clean up.”

He finally noticed the grime and dirt covering her, a telltale sign of spending a day in the mines. “Right. I’ll see you there.” He walked away, resisting the urge to look back as he heard her front door open and close.

It took Elora closer to twenty minutes to arrive, dressed in clean clothes, her damp hair pulled up high on her head. He could faintly smell her cinnamon soap, the same that most of the town had taken to using once she gave a few bars to Antoine as a gift. She joined him at the furthest booth, shifting into her seat rigidly. Arlo felt a hot wash of shame - she looked ready to turn and run, her gaze anywhere but directly at him.

Sonia came to the tableside, as sunny as ever. “What can I get you tonight, honey?”

Before she could answer, Arlo spoke up. “This one’s on me.”

Elora glanced at him for only a moment, then ordered a milk tea and a slice of Black Forest cake. When Sonia walked away, the tension returned, thick and heavy. Arlo felt the urge to reach across the table and take her hand - it had only been a few days, but he felt the absence of her friendship like a physical thing, twisting low and hollow in his gut.

“Good day in the mines?” He wanted to kick himself for opening with that, but Elora nodded, her spine stiff.

“Yeah, plenty of relics, found a good aluminum vein.”

The uncomfortable silence returned as Sonia came back, setting a mug and plate of cake in front of Elora. Once they were mostly alone, Arlo took a breath.

“I owe you an apology.”

A forkful of chocolate halted halfway to Elora’s mouth. She set it down, but said nothing, staring at her plate. Arlo took it as his cue to continue.

“What I did to you at the winter solstice was terrible, and I’m sorry. I just thought…”

“That I was joking?”

He looked up at her pained expression, her gaze pinned to the tablecloth. “That you were already dating Albert.”

The way her face changed was fascinating, fading from hurt to surprise, and then to disbelief. A lopsided smile creased her cheeks. “Seriously?”

Arlo felt his face go hot. “The two of you are always together!”

Then she _ laughed _ . Loudly, throwing her head back, then leaning on one elbow over her slice of cake as he shoulders shook. “Haha! Oh my god, Arlo. Albert is like a _ brother _ to me.” Taking a bite of her cake, she shook her head. “Ever since we met, we’ve had an ongoing joke that we must have been twins in another lifetime.”

That bit of news had _ not _ reached Arlo, who was attempting to hide behind his mug of coffee without much success. “I seemed to have missed that detail.”

Elora wiped her mouth on a napkin. “The truth is,” she whispered, leaning over the table. Arlo mimicked her movements to hear her low words as she covered the side of her mouth with her hand. “I’ve been helping Albert figure out how to propose to… a _ certain someone.” _ She then cast a very pointed look over her shoulder. Following her gaze, Arlo spotted Sonia, sitting at the bar with a glass of punch, sipping leisurely.

He added it up in his head. Albert and _ Sonia? _ “You can’t be serious,” he whispered.

Elora tapped her index finger over her lips twice in a ‘hush hush’ gesture, then kept giggling as she took a bite of her cake. It was good to see her smile, and soon he was laughing along. She finished her dessert with a soft smile on her face, and for the first time in days, the silence between them was companionable instead of strained.

“I really am sorry,” he said again as they emptied their mugs. Elora shook her head.

“It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

True to his word, he paid the tab and walked Elora to the edge of Peach Plaza. “I’ll see you around?”

She smiled at him, bright and happy. “Of course.” There was a long beat of silence, the fountain behind them providing the only sound. Biting her lip, Elora studied the pavement below their feet. “So,” she said in the tiniest voice, “If you hadn’t thought I was dating Albert, what would your answer have been?”

Dread returned, making Arlo’s heart thump painfully in his chest. It was something he hadn’t wanted to contemplate, every option undesirable in one way or another. But he knew his convictions, knew how to stick to them. Arlo had made a promise to himself, and didn’t dare to break it, or he’d lose who he was.

“I…” he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Elora, but… I think perhaps you and I should just be friends.”

He didn’t want to look at her face. The image of Nora’s crumpled expression as he turned her down still haunted him, he didn’t want to see it on Elora. Instead he focused on the lapel of her coat, where a blue fan-shaped amulet was pinned.

“I understand.”

Arlo let his eyes meet hers, and found her wearing a sad smile, her face glowing softly in the golden light of the street lamps. “I’ll see you around?”

He was dimly aware that he was nodding. “Yeah, see ya.”

Then Elora turned and went down the path to her home and workshop, disappearing through the door. Arlo didn’t realize he’d stood there and watched her go until a shiver raked through him, the temperature dipping below freezing as night fell. After returning to the Civil Corps post, Arlo flopped onto his bed and stared up at his ceiling, sleep eluding him for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate fic title: Arlo is dense as a bar of lead


	10. Spring 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting! I've left Elora's physical descriptions vague on purpose, but if anyone is curious, [this is what she looks like!](https://preservedcucumbers.tumblr.com/post/188109199361)
> 
> Here is where game spoilers begin for real. If you're not to the Portia Harbor section of MTaP, read with caution!
> 
> Minor content warning for alcohol use in this chapter.

Spring that year came to Portia slow and lazy, the last remnants of snow clinging to the city well into the first week. Mornings dawned cold and wet as melting ice dripped from rooftops and awnings, glittering in the sunlight.

Arlo had trouble getting out of bed those first few days, his nights filled with vague dreams of faceless threats that left him worn out and sore when he awoke. He tried not to drink too much coffee for fear of developing a dependency on it, but were it not for the steaming cup of brew Django would offer him before his rounds, Arlo doubted he would have been able to function at all.

He saw Elora on and off, riding her horse through town, taking commissions from the commerce guild, delivering relics to the museum for display. Each time they’d cross paths, Arlo would smile and wave, say a quick hello. She would respond in kind, a wave and a smile, a good morning. It appeared amicable, but after two weeks of nothing beyond the most basic friendly interactions, Arlo could tell things had changed. Where he used to take a break and talk with her, she now had business to attend to and would quickly leave.Where he’d typically stop at her workshop, leaning over the fence and chatting, Elora now seemed too engrossed in her work to offer much conversation. Their tradition of drinks on Thursday evenings was gone like a puff of smoke, Arlo sitting at the Round Table bar alone.

There was a wall between them, thin and invisible and hard as steel. He had no idea how to breach it, a strange but profound loneliness settling over him. Arlo was stuck in limbo between not wanting to hurt Elora again and desperately pining for what they had before he’d broken her heart. He missed his best friend. Terribly.

Counting the wooden panels on the ceiling of his room for the tenth time that night, Arlo pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed. Something needed to be done, his pride be damned, or he might lose her entirely.

\-----

  


The annual Fishing Day provided the opening he needed. After going to Albert for help - a feat for which he now owed the contractor a favor - Arlo hung back as the townsfolk headed to the riverbank near the waterfall, toting buckets, nets, and fishing rods. He spotted Elora walking beside Emily and Antoine, and though it was hard to tell from this distance, she looked to be laughing. A good sign.

After one last loop around town with his horse to bide time, Arlo steered Spacer down to the river. The chill of winter had finally given way to warm sunshine, the day bright and clear. It was perfect for a fishing festival, more than half the city having gathered at the banks to enjoy it. A table of snacks and drinks had been set up, likely by Django and Martha, and nearby a boombox played and upbeat, jazzy tune. Everyone was chatting happily as they fished.

Elora had positioned herself closer to the waterfall, casting her rod into the river with a determined stare. Carefully, as though a false move would scare her off, Arlo wove through the crowd towards her. He stopped to rent one of Qiwa’s fishing rods, took a deep breath, and went to stand at her side.

“Catching anything good?” He asked, trying to busy his hands with baiting his fishing hook.

She jumped a little, clearly startled, staring at Arlo in surprise for a few seconds before one side of her mouth quirked upwards. “Nah,” she answered, returning her gaze to the water. “Just small fry.”

He cast his line, chuckling. “You’ll never win like that.”

Elora only shrugged. “I’m not competing this year.” She hummed to herself. “I’m really only here because Albert threatened to go to the mayor and have me placed under house arrest if I didn’t take a day off.”

Arlo frowned. So that was how Albert convinced her to come out? He’d expected a more elegant solution.

“Overworking yourself again, I see,” he jabbed lightheartedly. Elora kept her eyes on the water as she nodded.

“You know me.” Her voice was low and quiet.

And there it was, the wall that divided them, evident in the guarded tone of her voice and the way she kept her eyes and body pointed forward. Arlo frowned; he would have to try harder if he wanted his friend back.

“Since you’re not competing,” he started, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, “How about we have a little contest of our own?”

It was a risk, and he held his breath as he waited for an answer. Elora’s brows pinched together.

“What sort of contest?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Whoever catches the most fish in an hour wins. All fish are worth the same.” He’d meant it to sound spur of the moment, but the truth was that Arlo had been plotting this for days. Toying with his fishing line, he felt his pulse quicken as he awaited her answer.

“Loser buys dinner?” Elora said.

When he turned to look at her, he found her wearing a cocky grin. Arlo just barely managed to contain a sigh of relief.

“Sounds good to me.”

They pulled in their lines, figured out an end time, and cast their rods in tandem. It started slow, neither of them getting so much as a nibble in the first twenty minutes, but when Elora snagged a salmon and held it up triumphantly with a grin, the mood shifted into something lighter as she released the fish back into the water. They kept their fish tallies by announcing it out loud to each other, Arlo snickering as Elora lost more than one fish off of her line. He subtly lost a fish or two when she wasn’t looking - he wasn’t interested in winning at all, and figured his plan would work out better if he lost. He knew she’d be furious if she found out that he’d let her win, so Arlo kept his movements carefully calculated so as not to give himself away.

As they fished, their conversation slowly grew less stifled as they talked about the weather, the new harbor, the eerie sound the windmills that fueled South Block made when the breeze was strong. Arlo told her a story about his very first Fishing Day, how a goliath fish on the end of his line had pulled his scrawny younger self into the river, forcing his father to drag him coughing and sputtering from the water by the scruff of his neck. Elora nearly lost a fish as she laughed at him, just barely pulling it in before her line snapped.

When the hour was up, they reeled in their lines. “I caught seven,” Arlo said.

Elora held her fishing rod in both hands as she grinned triumphantly. “Nine,” she declared. “Looks like those small fry were my ticket to victory.”

“Looks that way.” He didn’t dare tell her about the four fish he’d let go without counting, especially not with the way she was finally facing him, her body language no longer closed off. “I suppose dinner is on me. Gotta get back to my rounds for now, though. Meet me a Django’s at eighteen hundred?”

“See you then, _ loser,” _ she teased, turning towards the river to cast her line out again.

\-----

Arlo finished his work and rushed to the Round Table just before their meeting time. Elora was waiting for him, chatting with Sonia at the bar with a drink already in her hand. They sat in a booth by the Knight Statue and ordered, not surprised to find the daily specials to be all seafood related. Django probably had crates of fish in his icebox after the fishing competition.

They agreed on the grilled salmon and catfish fritters, Elora offsetting the greasy food with a vegetable salad. Arlo got a plate of spicy spaghetti for himself, laughing as she made a face at the menacingly red sauce. In retaliation, she ordered a heaping bowl of ice cream, topped with chocolate syrup, cherries, and nuts. He stuck his tongue out at the dessert, which thankfully made Elora laugh.

Their conversation was, for the most part, light and easy, though Arlo still played it safe with the topics he picked. He didn’t want to risk damaging their freshly built bridge.

“Another drink?” Arlo asked as Sonia cleared away their empty plates. Shaking her head, Elora sighed.

“Sorry, but I should really be getting home.” She shifted in her seat, reaching for her jacket. “We finally have all the materials for the harbor ready, so construction begins tomorrow at dawn.”

“I see. You heading up construction?”

“Mint is,” she answered, standing. “But I’ll probably be doing most of the actual building.”

Arlo pursed his lips, then raised an eyebrow at her. If he knew anything about the woman, she’d wear herself out on the first day. “Try not to -”

“Overwork myself?” She cut him off, smiling. “I’d say I will, but I think we both know that’s a lie.”

Huffing in mock annoyance, Arlo rested one arm on the back of the booth seat. “I’ll just have to bring you some lunch and force you to take a break.”

Her expression was warm as she turned to leave. “Thanks. Goodnight, Arlo.”

“Goodnight.”

He sat in the restaurant for a while, half-listening to the conversations of other customers. The gloom that had followed him since the Solstice was finally gone, replaced with calm relief. After paying the tab, Arlo returned to his room at the Civil Corps, crawling into bed and sleeping soundly for the first time in weeks.

\-----

As the city bell rang at noon the next day, Arlo rode his horse towards the harbor with promised food in tow. Construction truly was in full swing, the entire coast covered in stacks of lumber, stone, and metal materials. Several workers from Atara had been brought on to speed up the process. Wuwa was the first to greet him as he arrived, pointing towards the newly constructed stone docks with a smile.

Stepping over cords and stacks of rebar, Arlo found Elora by a giant shipping crane, using a pulley and cable to haul a pallet of wooden planks up to the roof of a half-finished building. She’d removed her jacket, and thanks to her sleeveless shirt, he could see the rather impressive muscle mass in her slender arms as she pulled the cable with gloved hands.

Remington had called her a ‘miniature powerhouse.’ It was an apt description.

A crew on the roof pulled the pallet in, signaling Elora to slacken the cable and let the cargo down. Once she let go, she put her hands on her hips and blew a lock of hair out of her face, her cheeks flushed from exertion. Arlo cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“Got time for a break?” He asked, holding up the basket he’d brought. Elora’s eyes lit up when she spotted him.

“I didn’t think you’d actually buy me lunch,” she laughed, walking to him. Arlo shrugged.

“I’m a man of my word.” He flourished at the basket. “So?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “Let me go clean up.”

Arlo found a shady spot beneath a nearby tree and sat in the grass, then began unloading the food: seafood stew, baked bread, steamed rice and vegetables. He’d even bought a dual colored pudding for Elora, still feeling the need to make amends. She joined him shortly after, her face and hands washed, sitting on the grass and helping herself. Conversation was light as she spent most of the time eating, polishing off the entire bowl of stew and at least half of the rice. 

He found himself focusing on her hands. Though small, they were rough and calloused, her nails short clipped and uneven, knuckles webbed with scars. The hands of a builder, rugged and strong, dotted with fading bruises here and there - nothing like Nora’s hands, which were soft, delicate, and perfectly cared for.

When Arlo presented the pudding to her, she raised an eyebrow playfully.

“Trying to butter me up?” She laughed, accepting the plate.

“Consider it a small thank you for all your hard work.”

Spooning some of the pudding into her mouth, Elora sighed happily. “This is the kind of ‘thank you’ I could get used to.”

He sat with her until she finished her food, then packed up the basket to return to Django. Elora waved to Arlo as he rode away, her smile wide.

\-----

_ The air was thick and sweet as Arlo walked down the path to the beach, fireflies dancing in the grass. He could see the paper lanterns ahead, floating into the night sky, lazy and slow. Everything felt so calm, so peaceful, the crowd of people at the bank parting as he arrived. And there, waiting for him on the sand, with a smile as warm as sunlight-- _

A harsh banging sound yanked Arlo from his dream, his head jerking up from his pillow with a snort. He stared at the fabric of his sheets, disoriented, as the banging continued.

“Arlo!” a muffled voice yelled. “Wake up!”

Shaking his head, the dream crumbled away, leaving Arlo with reality: he was in his room, it was the middle of the night, and someone was knocking on his door and yelling. He heaved himself out of bed and stumbled towards the source, still too out of it to care that he was in nothing but his shorts.

Flicking the lock on his door, Arlo opened it, immediately squinting against the light that flooded in. He blearily recognized Remington, who looked like he’d just rolled out of bed himself, his hair and clothes rumpled.

“Arlo,” Remi said, sounding out of breath. “The harbor is on fire.”

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been tipped over his head. In an instant he was wide awake, not bothering to shut the door as he ran back to his bed, snatching a pair of jeans from the foot board and hauling them up over his hips.

“I’ll meet you down there,” he heard Remington call out, then the sound of stomping footsteps leading away from his door. Arlo grabbed the first shirt he found on his floor, yanked it over his head, then stuffed his bare feet into his boots.

Outside, Arlo fumbled with Spacer’s saddle, his horse giving and annoyed huff as he tightened the straps. It was still pitch black, barely past three in the morning, but from the vantage point of the Civil Corps, he could see the orange glow and billowing smoke coming from the harbor.

He rode hard, down through the town and past Elora’s workshop. The light of the fire grew as he approached, and once over the last crest of hill, he could see it, a giant blaze of red and yellow, casting a plume of black smoke into the sky. Arlo dismounted, left his horse a safe distance away, and ran. The heat of the flames hit him as he approached, and he skidded to a halt.

The memory hit him like a tidal wave; ten years old, gripping his mother’s hand, scared out of his mind as he watched Sophie’s wheat fields burn to ash in the dry summer heat.

“Arlo!”

Remington’s voice pulled him back to the present. The workers from Atara were scrambling, yelling as they worked to pull building supplies away from the blaze. Wuwa came running in, dragging a hose behind him. It all became a blur of frantic movement as Arlo attempted to help, but there wasn’t anything he could do but watch the building burn, the fire too strong. Wuwa managed to get the water pump working, spraying the flames with seawater until they finally died down, leaving a smoking husk where the new warehouse used to be.

After he was certain that all workers were accounted for and uninjured, Arlo sat heavily in the grass, draping his arms over his propped up knees. He was sweaty and exhausted, his clothes damp with seawater from the hose and his throat burning from the smoke. Behind him, the faintest hints of light were peeking over the mountains. It would be dawn in an hour.

“We’re gonna have to tell the mayor, ASAP.” Remington stood beside him, looking equally worn out, smudges of soot on his white shirt. Nodding, Arlo pulled himself to his feet with a grunt.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, pushing his damp hair from his face. “Don’t let anyone near the building until we can investigate.”

“Copy that.”

Arlo returned to the Civil Corps, going straight for the bath. He was dead tired, but there was no point in trying to go back to bed now. He’d definitely need some of Django’s coffee to make it through today. Leaning his forehead against the cool shower tiles, Arlo let the hot water beat against the back of his neck in hopes of easing the tension headache he could already feel coming on. He thought back to his dream, remembering lanterns, the beach, a warmth and longing in his chest as everything around him pointed him towards a smile.

Then the dream vanished, dissolving from his memory altogether.

\-----

After two cups of _ very _ strong coffee, Arlo was more or less awake, though his limbs felt heavy and his head throbbed. Gale had been less than pleased to be woken up with the news about the harbor, as was Albert, who was now halfheartedly kicking a charred wooden board with his toe. With the early morning sunlight spreading over the landscape, they could properly see the damage.

The warehouse was totaled. Nothing remained of it but a patch of burned earth and a few blackened beams, some of which looked to still be hot. The buildings on either side escaped damage thanks to Wuwa’s quick work with the water hose, but still bore scorch marks where they were closest to the blaze.

“Could the fire have been caused by anything in the building?” Arlo asked. “Faulty wiring? Something flammable?”

Albert shook his head. “Power wasn’t even hooked up yet, and the only thing in the building was a cooling unit that Musa donated.” Rubbing his hands over his face, Albert groaned loudly. “A very _ expensive _ cooling unit.”

“Well,” Gale sighed, “At least no one was hurt. The warehouse can be rebuilt, we’ve budgeted for setbacks.”

The sound of beating hooves approached, and Arlo turned to see Elora riding in, looking disheveled. She dismounted her horse and walked up to the burned warehouse, cursing under her breath.

“I just finished that,” she huffed as she began to walk around the sides of the building. Arlo kept an eye on her, ready to warn her not to disturb the scene. Elora stopped, then crouched down in the charred grass, her eyebrows pinched together.

“Arlo,” she called. “You’d better come see this.”

Jogging to her side, Arlo knelt down to see what Elora was pointing at, and felt his blood run cold. A wooden board with writing painted on it was in the grass, unseen until the morning light. Though smeared with soot and ash, it could still clearly be read: _ don’t build the harbor. _

“Arson,” Arlo breathed, standing. “The fire was deliberate.”

Gale and Albert came to look. A hush settled over them.

“Arlo.” The mayor took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I want to know who is responsible for this, as soon as possible.”

Nodding, Arlo clenched his fists. “Right away, sir.” He motioned at Albert and Elora. “I want construction halted until this is sorted out. We can’t risk anyone’s safety.” Though they looked unhappy about it, builder and contractor both nodded.

“Elora, take some photos with your camera, would you? We might need them for evidence.” Arlo fetched Spacer by the reins and pulled himself into the saddle. “I’m going to get statements from Wuwa and the workers.”

“I’m on it,” Elora nodded.

With a click of his tongue, Spacer set off towards town, trying to tamp down the dread that rose in his throat. Most days, he loved his job. Today was not one of them.

\-----

  


It took the better part of a week to investigate the source of the fire. Arlo interviewed every Atara worker and Wuwa, even took a statement from Remington who had seen the fire before him. Tody was brought in for questioning twice, and though he was fidgety, he was adamant that he had nothing to do with it. Arlo very much wanted to believe it was true, but the terrible truth was that Tody had more motive than anyone to set the harbor on fire. He’d been against its construction from the very start, being vocal about his objection, and his alibi for the night of the fire was questionable at best.

Three days later, Elora came trudging into the Civil Corps, dragging a wagon with a large machine in it. She looked like she’d been through the ringer, her hair a mess, clothing torn in several places, her face sporting a set of parallel cuts on the right side of her nose.

“What happened?” He asked, rushing to help her. Elora let go of the wagon handle and put her hands on her hips, out of breath.

“New cooling unit,” she panted. “Petra couldn’t build one. Had to get it from the ruins.” She took a long breath before continuing. “Albert said we should keep it here until the investigation is over so we don’t lose another one.”

Arlo was more concerned about the state of his friend, who looked ready to keel over. “Are you alright?”

Elora wiped the sweat from her face with her sleeve and nodded. “Yeah. Just… I _ really _ hate Bandirats.”

Frowning, Arlo took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, angling her face towards the light. The cuts looked to be from claws, one of them coming worryingly close to her eye, the skin surrounding the wound already red and inflamed. A brief image of a Bandirat attacking her flashed through his mind, and Arlo grit his teeth against the momentary surge of anger. “Get to the clinic, I’ll lock up the cooling unit.” He released her and stepped back. “I wish you’d asked me to come with you,” he said in a low voice.

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but then shook her head with a sigh.

\-----

It was Tuesday evening, as a storm raged, that Arlo sat heavily in the furthest booth in the empty Round Table restaurant. Thunder rolled outside, rattling the windows as rain lashed against the building, filling the interior with a low, steady buzz.

Arlo was starting to tune it out, leaning on his elbows over the table, staring into his glass of Lucien whiskey. He would never in his life say that he hated his job - but today, he came dangerously close as he watched Tody break down in Gale’s office, confessing to setting the harbor warehouse on fire.

_ No one asked me, _ he’d wailed, his face streaked with tears. _ It’s my home that’s being ruined, and no one asked me! _

Arlo tipped back his glass to empty it, the alcohol burning in his throat. He poured himself another from the bottle he’d told Django to leave, wanting nothing more than to scrub away the memory of arresting a man he’d known all his life and locking him in a cell at the Civil Corps.

Some part of him was dimly aware of the door opening, the sound of rain becoming momentarily louder before it was silenced with a click. Footsteps approached, but Arlo didn’t look up, watching the way the flickering light from the candle on the table reflected in his glass.

“Arlo?”

He knew that voice, but didn’t look up. It was like his strength had been sapped right down to his bones, leaving him too weary to lift his head. Fabric rustled, then someone sat down in the booth beside him, radiating heat. A hand settled on his elbow. He knew that hand, blunt nails and torn cuticles, a white bandage around the middle finger, a freshly healed cut over the third knuckle.

“I heard what happened,” Elora said in a soft voice. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t know how to answer. Instead, Arlo took another gulp of whiskey, grimacing. He scrubbed his hands over his face, staring at the table below.

“Did you know that Tody used to babysit me?” he said after a long silence, just above a breath. “He was a teenager when I was little. Mum used to leave me with him sometimes when she had to work. He taught me how to fish.”

Elora said nothing, but the hand on his arm tightened. Arlo sighed and hung his head in defeat.

“I should have seen this coming,” he lamented, threading his fingers into his hair and balling them into fists. “I knew he was against the harbor project. I should have talked to him, I could have prevented this--”

“Shhh.” A hand was on his back, resting warm between his shoulder blades. “This isn’t your fault.”

It was hard to believe her words. How was this not his fault? He had all the evidence from the beginning, the signs as clear as day, yet he did nothing. And because of his inaction, a good man was driven to do something terrible. 

Shaking his head, Arlo let his arms drop to the table. “I can’t even stop one man from destroying his life. Am… am I even fit to protect Portia?” The words came out as a choked whisper, his throat closing as shame churned in his belly.

Slender arms wrapped around his ribs, squeezing gently. “You are,” Elora said, her voice close to his ear. “You are, Arlo. There’s no one better for this town than you.”

Though her words were kind, they made self doubt roar in Arlo’s mind. He took up his glass and threw back the rest of the whiskey in an attempt to silence it.

Elora was tugging on his arm. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

He let himself be pulled from the booth, his will to stand on his own long gone. Arlo stumbled and fell back into his seat once, his head swimming. He expected to be left there to rot in his drunkenness, a pathetic shell of a man, but Elora only pulled harder, heaving him to his feet and supporting his weight with an arm around his back. As they neared the doors of the restaurant, Arlo realized she was taking him home. He didn’t want to go home, because home was the Civil Corps, where Tody was locked up. He didn’t want to see it.

The rain had let up, the raging storm fading to a drizzle as Elora led him past the fountain and down the path that led away from town. He stumbled again at the gate to her yard, catching himself on the wood before he could topple into the mud, the arm around his chest pulling him back up.

Inside her home was warm and dry, the scent of baked bread lingering in the air. Reality faded in and out as he was led to a sofa - he’d bought this sofa, commissioned it from Paulie, paid for it to be made from fine rosewood. Arlo blinked and his holster and jacket were gone, as was his gear and boots. Hot, calloused hands eased him back onto the cushions, where he sank into them with a sigh. The last thing he felt before fading into darkness were fingers in his hair, scratching softly against his scalp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know Arlo's summer dialogue line about how he doesn't want to "watch everything burn again"? He says that before the harbor fire. It made me think, what did he experience before the builder came to town?


	11. Summer 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A whole lot happens this season. This is unbeta'd, so let me know if you spot any glaring mistakes!
> 
> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS PLOT SPOILERS! Big ones. If you haven't completed the Portia harbor, read with caution!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I'm having the time of my life writing this, and it's wonderful to know that others are enjoying it, too. Your comments give me life ♥

Arlo spent as little time in the Civil Corps as possible, only returning to bring Tody a meal and then sleep in his own room. The fisherman didn’t speak so much as a word, keeping his head down as he sat on his cot, staring at the floor. It hurt to see him this way, even if his sentence was only four weeks of confinement. One night, when Tody was sound asleep against the wall, Arlo slipped a book between the bars of his cell.

He would have been more excited to see Mali return to Portia were it not for the incident with the harbor, which was now complete thanks to Elora and Mint’s efforts. Though he did his best to keep his chin high when she arrived, Mali saw right through him, his mentor too sharp.

“We’re having a drink later,” she said, wagging a finger at him. There was no point in refusing, Mali would likely track him down if he tried.

Returning to his rounds, Arlo tried to shake off the melancholy that followed him like a cloud despite the warm sunshine that bathed the town in gold. He saw Carol’s daughters playing a game of tag with Jack and Toby in the fields, Martha and Lucy having tea and laughing, Aadit buying flowers from Alice with a hint of blush on his cheeks. Peace reigned in Portia, even if Arlo’s heart felt like a storm.

He passed by Elora’s workshop, where she and Mali were bent over pages of diagrams and blueprints, talking, pointing out to the sea, Elora taking the pencil from behind her ear to make notes. Neither woman seemed to notice him, so he went on his way.

As the sun set and Portia began to quiet, residents heading to their homes for dinner and family time, Arlo trudged to the Round Table. Outside, Mali was leaning against a tree, waiting for him.

Instead of her usual order of half of the restaurant’s menu, Mali only got drinks, Duvos punch and bitter melon mix as they sat in a booth far from the other patrons. Arlo made small talk until he’d finished his first glass, biding his time until Mali laid into him. And she did, albeit gently, as he told her of the harbor fire and arresting Tody.

Mali was quiet until Arlo finished speaking, then leaned back in her seat, nodding in understanding. “That’s something that never gets easier, I’m afraid.” She swirled her glass of punch and melon mix. “I once had to arrest my best friend. It haunted me for years.”

Sighing, Arlo finished his glass and poured another. “It’s my job.”

“That it is,” Mali answered. “And it’s a job that not just anyone can do, Arlo. Only the toughest can handle it… and I _ know _ you can handle it.”

He had no response, so Arlo kept quiet, focusing on the drink in his hand. In three weeks, Tody would be a free man, and Arlo would have learned a valuable if painful lesson.

“Don’t know if the mayor filled you in, but I’m here to investigate the ruins on Starlight Island.” Mali held up her hand and motioned for Sonia, who trotted over. “Any chance I can get a banner fish salad?” She asked the waitress.

“Sure thing, honey!” Sonia winked and left their table with a swirl of her skirt.

Turning back to the table, Mali set her drink aside and continued. “That’s why I was at Elora’s today. She’s building us a boat to get out there.”

Arlo’s eyebrows went up in surprise. A boat? That was ambitious, but he’d seen her produce giant cranes and drilling machines. A boat was probably easy in comparison. “If anyone can build it, it’s her.”

Mali laughed. “She didn’t even seem challenged.” Then, smiling coyly, she leaned over the table. “Speaking of a certain cute builder, you asked her out yet?”

Arlo _ choked. _ “Wh-what?” he sputtered, some of his melon mix going down his windpipe.

Chuckling, Mali leaned her chin on one hand. “Come_ on _ , Arlo. I could see the sparks between the two of you a _ mile away _ last time I was here. You’re not fooling me.”

The sound of the restaurant around them briefly cut out. Arlo stared at Mali, blinking - what did she mean, _ sparks? _ The last time she was here was autumn, and that was before…

_ Before the Solstice. _

“No?” Mali guessed, picking up her glass. Sonia brought over a plate of banner fish salad and set it in front of her with a smile, then dashed away to help another patron. “Well, I’d get on that if I were you.” Mali picked up a fork. “She’s not going to wait around forever.”

Swallowing hard, Arlo knew he couldn’t lie to Mali, even by omission - nothing got past the legendary adventurer. “She’s not waiting at all,” he confessed, his voice low. “Last winter, she asked me. I turned her down.”

He’d never seen Mali look shocked before, her red eyes going wide as her mouth slowly dropped open. Setting down her fork, she scrutinized him in a way that made him physically shrink in his seat.

“Okay, not what I was expecting.” Weaving her fingers together, she propped her elbows on the table and leaned on her hands. “I don’t mean to meddle, but I’m curious as to why.”

Arlo sighed, then reached for the bottle of Duvos punch, pouring it into his glass and taking a long sip. He hadn’t wanted to recall that memory, knowing Elora had cried over him, even if he didn’t see it. “I can’t,” he answered softly. “Between protecting the town, protecting South Block, training for the flying pigs, gathering power stones, and keeping the peace, when would I have time for her?” Watching the light dance in his drink, Arlo let out a long breath, his limbs suddenly heavy. He’d put these thoughts away in the back of his mind, hoping he’d never have to drag them into the light. Now that they were in front of him again, a sadness overtook him. “I wouldn’t be much of a boyfriend. Elora… she deserves more than I can give her.”

Mali was silent for a long while. Arlo didn’t look up, shame creeping into his cheeks.

“I used to think like that,” She finally said, her voice hushed and solemn. “Like having someone to love would distract me, or drag me down. I convinced myself that it meant giving up on my dreams.” Mali sighed, playing with her earring. “But that was just a convenient lie I told myself to shelter the fact that I was afraid.”

Her words might as well have been a knife with the way they cut into him. It was something he’d spend the last year carefully dancing around, avoiding putting into words. Afraid, afraid, afraid. What was he afraid of? Failing Elora? Failing himself? The uncertainty that came with change?_ All of them, _a whisper from deep within him came. Arlo heard himself croak as though he’d been struck, finally looking up to meet Mali’s eyes, finding them full of sympathy and warmth.

“I’m not going to tell you how to live your life.” Her tone was soft, almost motherly. “But love isn’t an inconvenience, or a weakness. It’s _ strength _ \- someone to stand beside you, hold you when you falter, to lift you up. You’ve got something really wonderful in front of you, Arlo. Don’t let it slip away.”

He could feel the color draining from his face. “...I…”

She smiled, then reached into the collar of her shirt, and pulled out a thin, golden chain. On the end was a silvery ring set with three glimmering pearls. “I didn’t get to where I am alone. And you don’t have to, either,” Mali said, grinning as she toyed with the ring. “I’ll introduce you to my wife someday. I bet Lydia would adore you.”

Arlo gaped. He didn’t know Mali was married; the thought had never crossed his mind. From the moment he’d met her, he’d built her up in his mind as an untouchable force of nature, blazing trails into the unknown all by herself, the kind of lone hero that mountains bowed to. It never occurred to him that even someone like Mali would make room for love in her life.

He thought about Elora, her kindness and patience, her fire and passion. The evenings spent sharing drinks as they laughed until Arlo’s cheeks hurt, watching the summer stars overhead, riding next to her as they raced their horses through the autumn air. The joy of their banter, joking back and forth, playful barbs that would leave him grinning all day. Waking up on her couch, aching and hungover and stinking of whiskey, expecting to be lectured for his pitiful display, only to be offered a glass of water, painkillers, and a soft smile.

He stared at the tablecloth as Mali ate her salad, his gaze fixated even after she paid for his drinks and left.

\-----

When Mali fetched Arlo for survey duty the next morning, he was still in a daze, a large chunk of his mind somewhere far away. It irritated him, not being able to focus despite his best attempts - he found himself having to make a conscious effort not to be snappy with Mali or Remington as they took land measurements and records in the Western Plateau. His brain refused to cooperate with him, instead replaying Mali’s words to him at the Round Table over and over. _ Don’t let it slip away. _

Arlo didn’t have the faintest clue what to do about any of it.

He was so out of it that he almost missed the news that Elora and Sam were investigating the theft of the computer that Mali had discovered in the ruins. The two women returned to town after sunset, hauling the recovered machine with them to the Research Center. Arlo watched from afar as Sam saw Elora off, a strange nervousness overtaking him, a jitter in his limbs when he spotted the builder that made him want to keep a safe distance.

Sam joined him, and together they walked to the Civil Corps. “Elora sure was a boon to me today,” she commented. “You sure you don’t want to offer her a job?”

Arlo kept his gaze fixed forward. “She said she’s happy as a builder,” he said, though it sounded like an automatic response.

Sam was quiet for a spell as they climbed the stairs past her house. “You okay, Arlo?”

He turned his head to look at her, her eyebrows pinched together in worry. Heaving a sigh, Arlo nodded. “Just have a lot on my mind.”

Sam didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t press the issue.

\-----

  


Elora finished the new paddle boat the next week. It was a charming thing, round-shaped with cheerfully painted trim, and it reminded Arlo of the river boats he’d seen in Walnut Groove as a child. After a test run, Wuwa declared the vessel sea worthy, Mali giving Elora a high five.

He hadn’t spoken to the builder much in the last week - not that he’d been trying to avoid her, but their paths had rarely crossed, each of them absorbed in their own work. When they did see each other, she would smile at him, wave, and Arlo would return the gesture. At those times, he would find himself oddly glad that they had no time for real interactions, a nervous anticipation filling him whenever Elora was near. _ Don’t let it slip away, _ Mali had told him - what did that even mean?

A few days later, Mali took Elora and left for Starlight Island bright and early. Arlo spotted them boarding the boat from McDonald’s farm, where he was doing patrols, and stopped to watch the little boat lumber away. He knew he didn’t need to worry about them, for there was no safer place in the world than by Mali’s side.

It was nearly sunset when they returned, riding a Dee Dee into town and heading straight for the Research Center. When they came back out, Mali’s expression was drawn tight as she told Elora to head home.

“Everything alright?” Arlo asked, dismounting his horse.

Mali glanced around. “Not here,” she said lowly, and motioned towards the Civil Corps. Arlo followed her, leading Spacer by the reins, becoming more unnerved with every step. Whatever happened on Starlight Island had Mali concerned. And if it was enough to concern one of the toughest people in the world, then it was most likely big.

“Got anything to drink in here?” Mali asked once they were inside the Corps. Eyeing the cell where Tody sat, Arlo motioned towards his room. She went in ahead of him, taking a seat at his desk as Arlo shut and locked the door. He went for his cabinet, pulling his flask out to hand to Mali, who took a sip from it and grimaced.

“Arlo,” she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smiling wryly. “This is terrible.”

“So I’ve been told,” he said, sitting down in the opposite chair. “It’s not really meant to be enjoyed.”

Mali nodded, taking another sip. “Right.” She was quiet for a spell, the ticking of Arlo’s alarm clock on the window sill the only sound in the room until she spoke again. “We found a passcode key for the locator computer.”

Arlo went still. “You mean the locator for an All Source.”

“A-yep.” Mali capped the flask and set it aside. “We now have the means to locate an All Source. There are a lot of people that would go to great lengths for this information.” Her gaze was hard.

Gears were turning in Arlo’s head. An All Source was nothing to sneeze at - _ wars _ had been started over them, people with too much power and money clamoring to get their hands on the old world technology. His hunch was right, this was big. “We should keep this under wraps,” Arlo suggested, opening the flask to take a drink.

“I have a better idea, actually.” Mali stood, moving towards the stairs. “Meet me at the Mayor’s office tomorrow at ten. We can discuss it there.”

Nodding, Arlo didn’t rise from his seat, trying not to think too much about how much more difficult his job was about to become. Mali flicked the lock, pausing with her hand on the knob.

“That builder of yours really impressed me today,” she said softly. “I hardly had to look after her.”

He couldn’t come up with a response before Mali smiled and left, the door clicking shut. Arlo took a long drink from the flask and rubbed at his temples.

_ Don’t let it slip away. _

While he was willing to concede that _ maybe _ Mali had a point, there were now much bigger fish to fry. His love life, or whatever may come of it, would have to wait.

\-----

Arlo was in Gale’s office at half past nine, arms crossed over his chest, trying not to tap his foot. He’d barely slept the night before, waking up every hour in a cold sweat from dreams that vanished as soon as he tried to remember them. Now he was awake, barely, to face the reality of a potential _ instrument of world war _sleeping somewhere in their little town. To say he was on edge would be something of an understatement.

The door opened and in walked Mali, followed by Lee, Merlin, and Elora - and Arlo nearly did a double take. Her typical uniform top had been replaced with a tan crop jacket that bared her midsection, showing off a stripe of skin he’d never seen. It looked so _ soft. _ Swallowing hard, Arlo bit the inside of his cheek and forced his eyes away from the hip bones that peeked out from under her belt, cursing the addition of one more thing on his stress pile.

He gave himself a headache with how hard he had to focus on the task at hand.

The plan was straightforward: hide the passkey while advertising that they’d found the All Source and intended to destroy it, then set a trap to catch the thief. It would certainly put Arlo’s mind at ease to have that particular variable out of the equation. Naturally, Elora was on board to construct both the false All Source model and the trap. As they left the office, Arlo tracked her movements across the plaza until a tap on the shoulder from Mali broke him out of his daze. She smiled knowingly at him, and Arlo gave a half-hearted glare in response.

\-----

The next week, Arlo opened the lock on the Civil Corps cell with a loud clank. Tody stood from the cot against the wall and slowly walked out. His face looked thinner, his eyes lined in dark circles.

Arlo struggled for something to say, finally settling on, “There’s a Dee Dee outside to take you home.”

Tody gave a short nod. He stood in place for a long moment before looking up at Arlo. “Thank you for the book,” he said, his voice thin. Then Tody turned and left, the door of the Civil Corps shutting softly behind him.

\-----

Squinting, Arlo studied the contraption before him. Then squinted harder. “What am I even looking at?” he asked.

Elora lowered the tarp covering what was, apparently, the fake All Source model. “Ack gave me the plans,” she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. She'd called Arlo to her workshop one afternoon, leading him into a newer building that was full of furnaces and various other machines. “It looks ridiculous, I know,” she continued, “but if even an AI doesn’t know what an All Souce looks like, then chances are this thief won’t, either.”

Straightening his back, Arlo nodded. “That’s true. Alright, got the trap built?”

She pointed at another pile, also covered by a tarp. “I’ll need to assemble it on-site, but yeah, we’re good to go.”

“Right.” Arlo rubbed his temple. He’d had a low-grade headache for days, his blood pressure unrelentingly high in the face of recent stress. “I’ll check with Mali and figure out when this is happening. The sooner we take care of it, the better.”

Elora’s eyebrows were pinched together as she studied him. “Are you alright, Arlo? You seem… tense.”

Arlo’s eyes flicked down to her stomach briefly, still visible thanks to the crop jacket she’d taken to wearing. As appropriate as it was for the summer heat, it was also infuriatingly distracting. “I’m fine,” he answered. “There are just a few more moving parts than I’d like in this situation.”

Nodding, Elora crossed her arms. “Yeah. But we’ll take care of it.”

He wished dearly that he shared her optimism, but doubt was churning low in Arlo’s stomach, the sensation growing stronger by the day.

\-----

As the first rays of light peeked over the mountains to the east, Arlo wrenched open the door to the ruins on the Western Plateau, standing aside so that Mali, Elora, and Sam could carry in their bait and trap. They needed to move quickly and quietly to set up - Gale had made the false announcement at a fireside meeting the previous night. Most residents didn’t know of the plan, and were understandably shocked, and even Merlin did a fair job of acting deeply offended by the news.

Elora worked quickly once they’d arrived at the room Mali had chosen for the trap, setting up the ridiculous fake All Source. Sam kept watch a few hallways ahead, and with Mali and Arlo’s help, they had the trap fully assembled and in place within an hour. Dusting off her hands, Elora turned and gave Arlo a handheld switch.

“Hold the red button for one second,” she pointed up towards the ceiling, “And the trap will drop.”

The trap, a wide steel cage, was suspended by cables near the ceiling, mostly hidden by the dark. It was inelegant but solid, which would do just fine. Arlo was testing the weight of the switch in his palm when Sam came around the corner, out of breath.

“Someone’s coming,” she whispered.

Arlo’s pulse thumped. Already? They sun was barely up, and they’d been in the ruin for less than an hour. Whoever this thief was, they were keeping close tabs on the town. As quickly and quietly as they could, the four of them crowded behind a stack of crates in the corner.

Heavy footsteps came closer and closer, metallic thuds that echoed through the otherwise silent ruins. They slowed as they entered the room, and Arlo dared to peek out from cover the tiniest bit.

Heavy armor and a full face mask were the first things he saw, and he didn’t like the look of it one bit. The stranger approached the fake All Source and started poking around, kneeling beside it. Someone tapped Arlo’s shoulder and he turned his head to see Mali nodding at him. Nodding once in agreement, he took the switch in his hand and pressed the button, holding it down.

The mechanisms that held the trap in place released with a snap, sending the steel box crashing to the floor. Just as it settled, the second part of the trap triggered, the mouth of the fake All Source opening and sending out a spray of sedative, courtesy of Doctor Xu. The masked stranger was knocked off their feet.

Arlo stood and came out from their hiding spot, sporting a wide grin that was completely honest. “Gotcha,” he said, feeling more than a little smug.

The stranger stood and faced him as Mali, Sam, and Elora came to circle the trap. No part of them was actually visible - every inch of skin was covered by something, the lenses of their heavy goggles opaque. Whoever this was definitely had something to hide.

“Nice little trap,” the stranger said, flicking at the steel bars. “You really think you can hold me with it?”

Arlo squared his shoulders. “Yeah, actually, I do.” Crossing his arms, he got a good look at the thief - shorter than him, but stocky. Probably strong. “We have some questions for you.”

They didn’t answer right away, instead pulling a long, red blade from a holster on their back. “I have a better idea,” they said, an audible sneer in their voice.

Mali clapped her hand down on Arlo’s shoulder, making him jump. “Everyone get back!” She cried, pulling Arlo backwards. “That’s a knight!”

A knight. Arlo’s short lived arrogance at the success of the trap fell straight through the floor. A _ knight. _ He was yanked backwards just as the knight’s red blade sliced through the carbon steel bars like they were paper, shredding the trap. Somewhere to his left, Elora gasped.

“Fan out!” Mali barked. “We can take him together!”

Arlo’s jaw clenched. “Always wanted to battle a knight,” he snarled, though it was mostly bravado. This was bad. _ Very _ bad. Knights were few and far between, inhumanly strong, and most who dared to face them didn’t live to talk about it. He’d never even seen one before now.

Mali made the first move, Arlo and Sam following behind. Fueled by adrenaline, Arlo was punching harder and faster than he’d ever had, but it didn’t seem to affect his target at all. His toughest blows weren’t enough to make the Knight so much as flinch, and even Mali was having trouble landing a hit. Sam and Elora seemed to able to do little more than defend themselves.

With a wide swing on their arm, the Knight knocked them all back. “Well, this was fun,” they said, “But I have more important things to do than play with children.”

Arlo opened his mouth, a snarky retort on the tip of his tongue, when Elora chose that moment to make a flying leap at the Knight with her sword extended. It happened in slow motion before him; the Knight turning to snatch the blade of her sword in their hand, using Elora’s momentum to swing the weapon over their head and send her flying across the room. Her body hit the far wall upside down, a horrible clang ringing out just before she slid down into a heap on the floor below.

Red flashed through his vision. Arlo grit his teeth until he felt pain.

He barely remembered charging at the Knight, overcome with a flood of violent rage that clouded his mind until he knew nothing but attack, hurt, _ kill. _ He punched and kicked, ignoring how his muscles screamed in protest until a blast to the center of his chest sent him sprawling backwards, crashing into a pile of crates. They broke apart until his weight, the wood splintering around him as the impact knocked the fight right out of him, the room spinning briefly.

His vision wavered as he watched Mali attempt to take the Knight out, only to be knocked away. Then there was a bright flash, a cloud of smoke erupting where the Knight stood, and the sound of footsteps fading down the corridor.

The smoke began to clear, leaving only a rubble filled room. Nearby, Sam and Mali groaned as they pulled themselves from the debris. Arlo coughed as he hauled himself to his feet, stumbling from the remains of the wooden crates, eyes searching for the masked man - but he was long gone.

His heart nearly stopped when he spotted Elora’s crumpled body on the other side of the room, face down and still. Arlo felt his whole body flash cold.

“No,” he whispered, charging towards her and sliding to his knees as his heart flew into his throat. “No, no, no, no!”

As soon as he turned her over, Elora groaned, her eyes squeezing shut. Relief flooded Arlo’s veins as he snaked an arm under the back of her neck, smoothing her hair away from her face. “El? Hey, Elora, can you hear me?”

She groaned again, raising a hand to her head as she looked up at him, wincing. “Ow… what happened…?”

Arlo huffed a laugh that was halfway to manic. “We got thrashed, that’s what happened. Can you stand?”

Her hand dropped away from her head as her eyes slid shut, letting out a pitiful whimper. Frowning, Arlo figured that was a ‘no.’

“We should get out of here,” Mali said from behind him. He couldn’t agree more - Elora was hurt, and their small problem had just become much, much bigger. 

“Arlo, you’re bleeding,” Sam said softly. That’s when he noticed the sharp sting at his right temple, the skin around it wet.

“I’m fine,” he answered. As gently as he could, Arlo pulled Elora up, hooking an arm under her legs and standing to carry her. Her forehead was hot and damp where it rested against the side of his neck, and she was heavier than the last time she was in his arms, that first summer when he’d found her unconscious in the dirt, overworked and overheated.

As they walked back through the ruins, Mali in the lead and Sam bringing up the rear, Elora shifted against him. “Put… p-put me down, Arlo,” she whined, her voice weak. “...’m fine.”

Gripping her tighter, he shook his head. “I think we both know that’s a lie,” he whispered.

He carried her all the way across the Western Plateau and to the lift, descending to the bottom and whistling sharply for his horse. Spacer obediently trotted over, standing still as Arlo loaded Elora into the saddle and quickly climbed in behind her. She slumped against him immediately.

“I’m going to get her to the clinic,” he told Mali. “We can discuss our options later.”

He set his horse to a trot, not wanting to jostle Elora too much, and made his way back into town. As they rode, Arlo pulled her close, one hand on the reins and the other around her waist.

\-----

Gale frowned deeply as Mali relayed what happened in the ruins. Arlo only half listened, his head throbbing where a bandage was taped against his temple. He’d left Elora in Doctor Xu’s care, trying not to think too much about how pale she’d looked in the clinic bed.

The mayor took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Dear me. It seems like we have a real problem on our hands now.”

“I’m heading back to Lucien to report this,” Mali said. “I’m sorry, Mister Gale, but this is now a matter for the council.”

Nodding, Gale tucked the handkerchief away. “I understand. The safety of Portia is my top priority, and I’m willing to cooperate with Lucien authorities.” He did not sound thrilled about the prospect of outside forces taking over his jurisdiction, and frankly, Arlo shared the sentiment.

Mali sighed, one of her cheekbones now sporting a dark red bruise. “I’m taking the passcode key with me. I think the town will be safer if it’s not here.

“I agree,” Gale said. “In the meantime, let’s do our best to keep this quiet. We don’t need to cause a panic within the town.”

“Good idea.” Mali motioned towards the door. “I’d better get going. Arlo, care to see me off?”

He followed her with a nod, expecting Mali to head straight for her plane. Instead she turned to the path that led north. “I think I left something in the Civil Corps,” she said, walking briskly up the ramp and past the mayor’s house. Once inside the Corps, Mali gave Arlo a serious look as she went straight for his room. Once he was inside, she shut and locked the door.

“This is big, Arlo,” Mali kept her voice low. “Really big. If a Knight came all the way out here, then there are _ a lot _ of eyes on Portia right now.”

“You think the town is in danger,” Arlo said. It wasn’t a question.

“I know it is,” Mali answered. “And I’m going to do everything I can to protect it. But until I return…” She reached into her hip pouch and withdrew a small booklet, bound in black leather, barely bigger than her hand. She presented it to Arlo, who took it between his forefinger and thumb.

“What’s this?”

Mali’s red gaze was hard as stone. “It’s a cipher.”

Arlo felt his blood going cold.

“A Flying Pigs cipher,” Mali continued in a hushed tone. “Only seven other people in the world have one of these in their possession.”

The tiny booklet in his hands suddenly felt far heavier. “Why are you giving this to me?” Arlo whispered, dreading the answer.

Sighing, Mali rubbed at her forehead, and in that moment she looked so much older. “I have reasons to believe that not everyone in Lucien is an ally. I’m worried what this news will do to its stability, and I may need a way to contact you in secret if something goes wrong.”

Reality was sinking in faster than Arlo liked. “You think there’s a spy on the council.”

“I’m not certain, but it’s possible.” Mali crossed her arms over her chest. “And we’re dealing with something that could easily ignite a war, so I’m going to err on the side of caution.” Unfolding her arms, Mali pressed the cipher into Arlo’s palm, curling his fingers over it and clasping his hand in both of hers. “If anything happens to me, I’ll send you a coded message. Use this to translate it.”

Arlo’s throat felt tight. “How will I know it’s from you?”

She smiled then, though it did nothing to ease Arlo’s nerves. “Be on the lookout for a telegram from your dear aunt Judith. Until then, do _ not _to look inside this booklet. Hide it somewhere. Tell no one you have it.” Her eyes searched his. “Can I trust you to do this, Arlo?”

Never in all his life had he felt the weight of responsibility as keenly as he did then, his mentor’s hands holding his, the tiny book as heavy as lead. “Of course.”

Squeezing his hand one last time, Mali smiled, then turned and left. Arlo stood rooted to the floor for several minutes, the gears grinding in his head. An All Source. A Knight. A possible spy on the Lucien Council, and the ever looming threat of Duvos just over the horizon. And in the center of it all, his tiny, beloved town, with its sleepy charm and quiet streets. He’d taken a solemn vow to protect Portia, no matter the cost - even if it meant his own life. A fear slowly crept into the deepest part of him as he realized that was no longer a vague notion, but a very real possibility, coming into sharper focus every second.

Arlo managed to shake himself out of his trance, rushing to the bottom drawer of his dresser, where he dug out an old sweater, wrapped it around the cipher, and shoved it to the very back.

\-----

It took several days for Arlo’s deep rooted unease to subside, though he still walked with a faint prickling of paranoia in the back of his mind. Shadows seemed to dance just out of his range of vision, only to vanish as soon as he looked. His dreams were strange and unsettling, often robbing him of decent rest. He found himself studying his fellow residents as though they contained clues - clues to _ what, _ exactly, he didn’t know. Though nothing had changed, Portia seemed different somehow, as though the whole of reality had shifted just the tiniest bit.

The Day of Memories restored some semblance of normalcy to his life. It was fun to watch Jack, Toby, and Carol’s daughters rush around town, hanging streamers and paper placards of ghosts. Django set up a small stand to sell lemonade and iced tea to combat the late summer heat, while Paulie helped Alice arrange wildflowers on a table in the square - free for residents to use to pay respects.

He spotted Elora walking around town, having been released from the clinic after a day, dressed in a casual tee shirt and faded jeans. She looked a bit smaller than he’d remembered, ever since he’d held her limp body in his arms.

Minister Lee and Lucy gave a short sermon as Arlo took a single wildflower for himself. He was not a religious man by any means, but this day felt different - as though the boundaries between worlds was thinner, the air around him charged with a strange energy that he didn’t feel any other day of the year. When the prayers began, he clasped the little white flower over his heart, and prayed for his grandmother, his grandfather, his great uncle who’d read him stories when he was sick. For Gale’s late wife, for Martha’s late husband, for the Hulu matriarch who’d passed on a decade ago. He prayed for the souls of Ack’s former crew, now buried in the Portia cemetery, their grave adorned with fresh flowers every week without fail.

He opened his eyes in the silence and peeked across the plaza at Elora, who had her fingers laced together, clutching a wildflower as she bowed her head, her eyes closed.

After prayers, Gale rang a large bell, and the ghost hunt was on. Half the town scattered to the streets, replacing the silence with laughter and shouts of surprise. Arlo bought a lemonade from Django and sipped it as he crossed the plaza, nearly having to leap out of the way as Mars came rushing by, several ghost emblems in his hand.

As he neared the bench by A&G construction, he saw Elora sit down on it, crossing her legs and drinking from a tall glass of tea. He was surprised to find her sitting the ghost hunt out. She’d always participated, even winning last year, beating a disgruntled Higgins by a hair.

“Not up for a hunt?” Arlo asked as he approached. Elora lowered her glass and shook her head.

“I’d love to,” she answered, “But it turns out I hit my head pretty hard back in that ruin. I’m on strict orders from Xu to take it easy for the next two weeks.”

The sound her body made as it slammed into the metal wall rang in Arlo’s ears. He frowned at his lemonade and moved to stand closer so he could keep his voice down. “I’d meant to get you out of there before… well. That.”

She just shrugged. “Everything is clearer in hindsight.”

They lapsed into silence, knowing that discussing their encounter with the Knight in public was very much not a good idea. Instead they watched Aadit chase Alice around Peach fountain, the florist giggling as she tried to shoot him with her water pistol without success. The street lights came on as daylight faded into evening, Portia still lit up with celebration lights.

“Hey, Arlo?”

He glanced down at the bench where Elora sat. “Yeah?”

She played with the condensation on her glass. “I don’t remember much after I put the, you know, _ thing _ together, concussion and all that. But… did you… carry me out?”

Arlo smiled. “Yeah, I did.”

Elora pressed her lips together, then turned her head and smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

It was Erwa who claimed victory in that year’s Ghost Hunt, and Arlo raised his empty glass in congratulations. The townsfolk began trickling out the Western Gate as midnight approached, heading to the beach to light wishing lanterns. He secretly loved this tradition and looked forward to it every year - something about watching the glowing paper lights float lazily into the night sky sparked a childlike wonder in Arlo. It was like recapturing the innocence of his youth, if just for a moment, and it made the world around him make sense somehow.

The beach was already crowded with people by the time he arrived, the sand beginning to glow as lanterns were lit one by one. The sight soothed him, hushing his nagging apprehension until he could barely hear it over the sound of the ocean waves lapping gently against the sand. The first few lanterns were released, followed by a dozen more, soaring higher against the dark blue sky. As Arlo scanned the beach, his gaze landed on a lone figure by the water, gently coaxing a lantern upwards with her hands. Elora.

He felt a tug in his chest, a whisper of something warm. His feet followed it, carrying him to the beach, Elora turning to him and smiling as he approached. It felt like a burst of sunlight against his skin, and for just a moment, Arlo held his breath.

She offered him a lantern as he came to stand at her side. Arlo took it, and watched as Elora struck a match and lit the flame inside. Once it began to burn, the paper light lifted from his fingers, floating up and away.

Arlo looked down at Elora to say something, but the words died on his tongue when he saw the reflection of the wishing lanterns in her eyes.

\-----

  


Albert and Sonia were married on the last day of summer.

It had been a long time since there was a wedding in Portia. Arlo was a teenager when Carol and Mars exchanged vows, their three daughters coming along less than two years later. Albert had invited the whole town, spending an exorbitant amount of money to transform the city into a wonderland of white flowers, streamers, and fairy lights. It looked like something out of a dream.

Being the captain of the Civil Corps in a small frontier town, Arlo didn’t own a lot of clothes, much less something fit for a wedding. He did, however, have one pair of dark jeans that were barely ripped, and a grey button down shirt that thankfully still fit. As afternoon waned and the time for the ceremony neared, Arlo rushed back to the Civil Corps to shower and change. He spent the better part of ten minutes trying to comb his hair into something neat before giving up; he’d inherited his mother’s wild locks, and he doubted anything short of a gallon of honeybee wax could tame them.

Glancing at himself in the mirror, Arlo frowned. The collar of the shirt felt too tight, and the cuffs of the sleeves were too short for his long arms. He looked_ ridiculous. _ Scowling, he popped the top two buttons of the shirt open and rolled up the sleeves. It helped - he looked less like a fifteen year old going to Sunday service and more like a grown man. Arlo wished he could put something on over it all, but it was still to warm outside for his only nice jacket. After lacing up his spare grey leather boots - a bit tight at the toes, if he was honest - Arlo joined a nicely cleaned up Remington to head to the church.

Everyone in town had donned their nicest clothes for the celebration. Even Sam, ever the tomboy, wore a cute suede jumper and Asteria blossoms in her hair. Dolly, Polly, and Molly carried baskets of flower petals that they tossed into the air randomly, creating a path of white that went all the way to the church altar, where Albert stood in a pristine white tuxedo. Once the church was full to bursting, Nora played a wedding march on her piano. The doors opened, and in walked Sonia, accompanied by Django. Her dress was gold and white, all frills and ribbons, a delicate veil in her hair. She looked every part the bride, radiant and beautiful as she made her way to where her soon-to-be husband waited with a giant, awestruck smile.

The ceremony was short but lovely, Arlo unable to contain a grin as the whole room erupted into cheers when Albert and Sonia shared a kiss. Minister Lee led the wedding procession down the hill to town, the newlyweds arm in arm as they crossed Peach Plaza, following the line of white streamers to where the reception was set up in front of the Wishing Tree. Music played, drinks were poured, Gale gave a captivating speech about love and partnership. When the cake was cut, Arlo accepted a piece and ate, though he avoided the sugary frosting.

The townsfolk began dancing, trading partners as they laughed. Even Issac humored Polly, twirling her around as his trademark scorn vanished from his face. Arlo stood back and observed, still technically on duty and determined to let nothing spoil the event. As he scanned the crowd, he caught sight of something that made him pause.

Nearby, laughing as she danced with Mei, was Elora. Arlo hadn’t recognized her right away, much like at the Solstice, her work clothing replaced with a knee length floral skirt that swirled around her legs as she moved and a pink short sleeve blouse with lace trim. Her hair was done up in a series of elaborate braids, and delicate jewelry twinkled at her ears and neck. She was the picture of feminine grace, and Arlo’s heart thumped against his ribs.

The song ended and Elora went for a cup of punch at one of the tables. He moved to intercept, pulled along by something he couldn’t quite name. “You look very nice,” Arlo said to Elora as she met his eyes, her glass poised at her lips. She scanned him up and down once, then cocked an eyebrow.

“Sorry, you are?” She motioned to the crowd with her cup. “I was sort of looking for my friend. Tall guy, rugged, looks perpetually unimpressed?”

He blinked a few times, then snorted a laugh at her jab. “I do _ not _ look perpetually unimpressed.”

Elora picked up a glass of punch and handed it to him. “You _ do, _ though. It’s okay, we’re all used to it.” She paused, then smiled. “You clean up nicely, Arlo. Very dashing.”

“Oh?” He sipped from the glass he’d been given. “A change of shirts is all it takes for me to go from ‘rugged’ to ‘dashing,’ then?”

It was hard to tell in the fading light, but her cheeks seemed to darken a touch. “You know what, I’m going to stop right there. I don’t think your ego needs any more boosting today.”

Humming in satisfaction, Arlo turned to admire the plaza. The fairy lights that surrounded the Wishing Tree made it twinkle and glow, white roses and other flowers spread everywhere. Alice must have spent months preparing for this. Elora would likely know, she and the florist were close, but before Arlo could ask, Sonia came rushing up to them and snatched Elora away, needing her camera skills to capture as many pictures of the wedding as possible. As she was dragged off by the arm, Elora cast a smile over her shoulder at him.

The evening wore on, Arlo catching himself tracking Elora across the plaza, her camera strap around her neck as she snapped photos over and over. He didn’t even notice that he was on his third glass of punch until Albert approached him, his tuxedo jacket removed.

“Having a good time, Captain?”

Arlo turned to him and smiled. “Yeah, this is fantastic, Albert. You really spared no expense.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Albert’s cheeks went pink. “It cost me a pretty penny, but it was my wedding present to Sonia. She’s always wanted to have a big fairy tale ceremony with all the trimmings, and I thought, why not indulge her?”

Arlo laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day that _ Albert the flirt _ settled down.”

“Oh come now,” Albert elbowed him gently. “That’s always been a lot of talk.”

The conversation lulled. Music continued to play as some of the guests began to leave, Carol and Mars escorting their exhausted daughters back to their home, Django and Issac bidding Sonia goodnight as they took their leave. Once again, Arlo found his eyes snapping back to Elora, searching for her as she bobbed through the thinning crowd.

“Go on, mate,” Albert said. “Ask her for a dance.”

Blinking, Arlo frowned. “Who--”

“Elora,” Albert said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve been staring at her all night.”

Heat rushed to his cheeks. Had he? Arlo glared down at the mostly empty glass of punch in his hand, the most recent of many, as if he demanded it explain how this happened. Beside him, Albert sighed.

“I think Sonia and I are turning in soon. Our boat to Walnut Groove leaves first thing in the morning.” He clapped Arlo on the arm. “Thanks for coming, I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

In the end, he stood his ground, and once the bride and groom left, the music was finally turned off. Most of the town began saying their final goodnights and congratulations, shuffling back to their homes. It was after midnight, Arlo realized with a yawn. Under normal circumstances, he would have been in bed hours ago. Around the plaza, a few people remained to clean up, pulling down streamers and decorations, stacking cups to take back to the restaurant. Near the school, Arlo spotted Elora, standing on her tiptoes and stretching as high as she could for a length of ribbon on the tree that was just out of her reach. She even hopped a few times to no avail, the cloth several feet above her head.

_ Don't let it slip away. _

He was walking to her before he realized it, reaching up above her to easily pluck the ribbon from the leaves, offering it to her with a grin. Elora looked surprised, pausing wide eyed for a moment, then taking the ribbon from his fingers and adding it to the others draped her arm.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He followed her as she went around the tree, reaching for tinsel and flowers that had made its way into the higher branches. “I see your plan to help Albert propose was successful.”

She laughed softly. “It almost wasn’t. The Mysterious Salesman only had one diamond ring when he came through town, but he wanted something crazy for it, so I spent two days running around non-stop, trading a bunch of stuff to get it.” She stooped down to pick up a bunch of flowers. “Do you know how hard it is to find carbon fiber these days?”

Arlo pulled a line of cloth from the bushes. “I’m going to guess ‘very.’”

Elora opened her mouth to answer, but instead a wide yawn came out, her hand moving in front of her face to hide it. “Sorry,” she laughed, blinking away a tear. “It’s been a long day.”

He hadn’t noticed before, but Elora looked exhausted, her eyes red rimmed, wisps of hair coming loose from her braids to hang around her face. Shaking his head, Arlo leaned close to her, hearing her gasp softly as he scooped the pile of ribbon from her arm and tucked it under his own. 

“I’ll help them finish up,” he said. “You should get to bed.”

Elora put her hands on her hips. “I’m fine, Arlo.”

“Oh?” he tapped one of his temples with his forefinger. “If I remember correctly, you’re still recovering from a concussion.”

Raising a hand to protest, Elora paused for a moment before dropping it, shaking her head. “You make a good point,” she conceded. “Alright. Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime.”

She stood still for a moment, her smile fading briefly as her eyes dropped away from his face. She looked very much like she wanted to say something, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she sighed and smiled, catching his eyes again. “Goodnight, Arlo.”

“Goodnight, Elora.”

Then she turned to leave, glancing back at him once as she crossed the plaza. Arlo watched her go, and it was only once she was fully out of sight that he remembered the task at hand, and moved to pull more ribbon from the bushes as a smile crept over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mali before the meeting: hey Elora here's this cool outfit, you should wear it wink wonk


	12. Fall 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Sorry for the delay, there was some dense stuff to work through in this chapter. Feedback and comments always appreciated!
> 
> MAJOR PLOT SPOILERS! If you haven't met Ursula, then read with caution!

The week following the wedding was quiet and peaceful. Albert and Sonia were off on their honeymoon, living it up in Walnut Groove as the tips of the trees around Portia began to change colors. He remembered Sonia going on and on about a theater show in a distant city that she was dying to see - perhaps Albert had bought tickets. Nora helped at the Round Table while the only waitress was gone, and while she did her best, she was clearly out of her element. She was well-loved enough that customers were quick to forgive her mistakes, as was Django, who laughed off broken plates and spilled glasses as though they were nothing.

As time passed, Arlo felt more and more at ease, the fear that Mali had left him with receding into the background. He hadn’t so much as opened the drawer that contained the cipher, still wrapped up in a faded wool sweater, and with each new day, Arlo’s tension faded. Mali was the best of the best - she would handle things. There was no one in the world more capable.

On the morning of his birthday, Arlo rose early, stretching lazily in his bed as the first hints of morning light peeked through his curtains. He was twenty five today, though it seemed strange to think of it. The last few years had flown by, seeming both incredibly short and immeasurably long. Portia had changed so much in that time, the city shifting and growing, becoming brighter and more beautiful.

Arlo dressed, zipping up his jacket and tying his bandanna around his neck, smiling as he thought of Elora and how the changes to his town neatly coincided with her arrival almost three years ago.

Though the sun was still warm, a cool breeze moved through the town, blowing in from the east and carrying with it the scent of the ocean. Spacer seemed to be in an especially good mood, prancing and shaking his mane as they rode through the streets. Arlo figured it was due to the dropping temperatures - his horse favored the heat about as much as he did. Several citizens wished him a happy birthday as he passed, Martha offering him a savory mushroom crepe on the house, Mars leaving his storefront to chat for several minutes. It seemed like everyone wanted to stop him to say hello today, and his rounds ended up taking nearly an hour longer than he’d planned.

It was nearly lunchtime when he returned to the Civil Corps, leaving Spacer in the stable. As Arlo went through the doors, he stopped, his eyes snapping to the other side of the room.

In a corner, with her hair falling out of its tie, grease on her cheeks and a screwdriver between her teeth, Elora looked up at him, clearly surprised. They both paused for several seconds, until she stood and took the screwdriver out of her mouth.

“Uh,” She said, then awkwardly flourished at the contraption next to her. “Happy birthday!”

Arlo went to her side, one of his eyebrows arched high. “A new training dummy?” He asked. It was certainly what it looked like, though this one was made of dark metal and covered in leather padding. He glanced back at the other training dummy against the eastern wall, which Elora had built for him more than a year ago at his request. It was still in excellent shape, so why had she given him another?

“Yeah,” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “This one’s a little different, though. Go on, give it a try.”

Shrugging, Arlo raised his fists as Elora stepped back. He gave the dummy a few hits in his usual pattern, but on the third punch, one of the leather padded arms snapped out suddenly, forcing Arlo to jerk his left arm in front of his face to block. It happened so quickly that his reaction had been completely automatic, and he blinked as the dummy’s arm coiled back to its side. 

Elora was bouncing on her heels beside him. “The arms are spring-loaded, so they’ll punch back randomly. I thought it might be more engaging than a regular dummy.”

Arlo looked from her to the dummy and back again. “That’s… that’s incredible,” he breathed, feeling a little awe-struck. “Did you design this?”

She shrugged, tossing the screwdriver in her hand onto a pile of tools by the wall. “Sort of. Albert had all kinds of weird ancient contraption plans that he gave to me one day, and one of them was for a spring loaded pulley system. I just adopted the mechanics for another purpose.”

Staring down at her, Arlo felt full and warm. “You did this for me?” he asked, barely a whisper.

She smiled, bright and honest. “Yeah.”

Speechless, Arlo reached out, curling his arms around her shoulders and pulling Elora against his chest. No one had ever gone this far out of their way for him, or given him anything this generous. It overwhelmed him, and he squeezed the woman in his arms gently in the hopes that it could convey his gratitude. Next to his neck, Elora gasped softly, freezing in place briefly before relaxing and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Leaning his cheek against her hair, Arlo heaved a deep breath. “Thank you.”

The arms around his middle tightened just a bit. “You’re welcome.”

He didn’t know how long they stood there, but eventually Arlo pulled away, taking a step back. Elora did the same, her smile seeming to glitter until she cleared her throat.

“I should get back to work,” She said, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. “I’ve got an order from Atara for some Dee Dee transports due next week.” She turned to pick up her bag of tools, slinging the strap over her shoulder. “Maybe don’t let Toby play with this one,” Elora cocked her head at the new dummy. “I don’t want to explain to Martha why her son came home with a black eye.”

Arlo chuckled. “Good call.”

Elora walked past him, heading towards the door. “Later, Arlo,” she said over her shoulder. He gave a nod and a smile, watching her until she was gone. In the quiet of the empty Civil Corps, Arlo traced his fingertips over the leather padding of his birthday present in wonder.

\-----

  


The quiet that had made itself at home in Portia continued as Autumn rolled in completely, the mornings turning crisp as the landscape faded from green to gold. There was no news from Atara, Lucien, or Mali, and since Arlo had sealed up the ruins on the Western Plateau with a heavy padlock, nothing of note had happened in town. The only unusual thing to take place was the reappearance of Huss and Tuss - and the fact that they were now determined to earn an honest living. Arlo kept his eye on the two brothers, but from what he could tell, they had indeed turned over a new leaf. Each morning, they would carry in a crate of resources - wood, ore, wild fruit and herbs - and peddle them to locals. A talk with a few townsfolk revealed that they were even selling them at fair prices.

Gale had said more than once that Portia was founded on second chances.

On a clear but chilly evening, Arlo took his horse just outside town, the last bits of sunset still staining the horizon purple. He really did love the autumn more than the other seasons, and not because of his birthday. The air smelled the best, like dry leaves and grass, ripe wheat and wood fires. Squash and apples were at their fullest, the blade fish that had spawned during the summer were fat and plentiful, and the temperatures were just right to fully enjoy the day.

A cool breeze nipped at his ears as Arlo rode through the southern pasture, Colorful Llamas wandering about as they found patches of leaves to sleep in. It was a good night for a hot tea with bourbon to take the chill out of his fingers.

A crackle broke through the peaceful silence. Arlo’s gaze snapped to Amber Island just in time to see a burst of light soar into the night sky, then explode in a flare of color. It was followed by another, and another, until the air over the island was filled with light and smoke. Below, two figures stood on the beach, lighting the fireworks with a small torch. From this distance in the dark, Arlo couldn’t tell who it was. He smiled as he enjoyed the cheerful display, then steered Spacer back towards town.

\-----

The next weekend, as a dreary rain settled over town, Arlo decided to enjoy his afternoon break in the Round Table’s game room. Gambling wasn’t much his thing, but he found that he greatly enjoyed darts - focusing on one simple goal let his mind rest in a way that was uniquely refreshing. Coupled with an hour of quiet to himself, and it was no small blessing to a man whose every waking hour was rife with stress and heavy responsibility.

Pulling the darts from the board to start another round, Arlo heard the restaurant doors open, followed by several voices. They came closer, settling into the booth just on the other side of the wall that he stood next to. A conversation started, and Arlo recognized the sound of Emily, Sonia, and Antoine: The gossip crew of the town. He shook his head, thinking that he should probably make an effort to not listen.

The tittering began, muffled a bit by the rain outside, starting with Sonia’s extravagant honeymoon in Walnut Groove, fashion trends, music, the coming winter. Arlo only half paid attention, concentrating more on beating his own record.

“So anyway, did anyone else see those fireworks on Amber Island the other night?” Sonia’s voice suddenly lowered. Arlo lined up another dart and threw, the needle landing soundly on the green wedge.

“I did!” That was Emily. “They were so pretty. We should go light some!”

“Definitely,” Sonia agreed. “But did you hear who was out there?”

A collective silence followed, during which Arlo could only assume the other two were either nodding or shaking their heads. He lined up another dart.

“It was Doctor Xu and Elora.”

The dart in his hand stilled as Arlo’s attention snapped to the other side of the wall. Swallowing, he tried to force himself to concentrate on the spinning cork board in front of him. He was one good throw away from a perfect score.

“And,” Sonia continued, “I have it on good authority that Xu confessed to her that night.”

The dart left Arlo’s hand and lodged itself firmly in the wall below the board.

A derisive snort sounded from their table. “Well,” the sneer came through clear in Antoine’s voice, “I certainly hope they’re happy together.”

The floor might as well have fallen out from under Arlo’s feet, his heart sinking like a stone as he struggled to process the information.

“Don’t worry, Antoine,” Sonia laughed. “Xu is still available - Phyllis told me that Elora turned him down.”

“Oh my,” Emily gasped.

“What? Why?” Antoine practically cried. “Xu is the _ perfect _ man. She’s crazy!”

There was a clinking sound, like ice rattling in a glass. “Well, maybe she’s still carrying a torch for _ you know who.” _

Antoine made a disgusted sound. “Ugh. Well, either _ you know who _ needs to pull his head out of his rear and realize what’s right in front of him, or she needs to move on already. Watching those two circle each other like Jump Dancers is exhausting.”

The topic of conversation changed after that, and Arlo stopped listening, silently leaning against the wall next to the dart board. His whole body felt leaden as he recalled seeing those very fireworks the other night, the two figures on the beach lighting them one after another.

_ She’s not going to wait around forever, _ Mali had told him.

He stayed where he was, still and quiet, until the three gossipers left their table and exited the restaurant. When Arlo returned to his rounds, he did so in a far away daze, altering his route so he didn’t pass Elora’s workshop.

\-----

Sleep was an impossibility that night. Arlo stared up at his ceiling from his bed, the ticking of his clock echoing in his quiet room. The conversation he’d heard in the Round Table repeated over and over in his head, each time bringing a fresh wave of agonizing doubt. What if Phyllis was wrong? What if Elora had accepted Xu? Had he missed his chance?

Pushing his blanket off, Arlo sat up and rubbed his face with his palms. His chance for _ what? _What did he want? Elora? He didn’t even know. Arlo had spent so much time and energy convincing himself that he could never have love - that he didn’t _ need _ it - that the agony of potentially losing it had utterly blindsided him. What was he supposed to do? Ask her out? Could he even do that at this point, or was it too late? How would he even approach the subject? What would he even _ say? _

Arlo didn’t know what he wanted from her. The only thing he knew for sure was that the idea of someone else winning her over made him ache like he never had before, accompanied by an additional stab of guilt at the knowledge that he’d done nothing to deserve her. She’d offered her heart, and he’d refused it outright.

And what if he was reading this all wrong? He’d never been in love, and was lacking for frame of reference. What if it wasn’t actually Elora he wanted, but some vague notion of a happy relationship that he’d grown up reading in books? Was it the _ idea _ of love that appealed to him, and not the thing itself? If that were the case and he asked Elora to be his, it could all backfire horribly and he’d end up hurting her again. Arlo doubted their friendship would survive another heartbreak courtesy of his poor decision making, and if there was anything at all he was certain of, it was that losing his best friend was the worst possible outcome.

Flopping back onto his pillow with a groan, Arlo’s head began to throb from running in circles, no closer to a solution now than he had been hours ago. Mali had said she’d seen sparks between them, and he found himself combing through memories searching for them. All he found were the times they’d laughed together, acting like friends, Arlo enjoying the company of a woman he could truly let his guard down with. Wasn’t love something more profound than that?

He thought of Albert and Sonia, now happily married. Arlo hadn’t realized they were even dating until Elora told him, somehow missing all of the signs. It irritated him to have misread it; it was his job to keep track of the goings on in Portia. But he also assumed that it would have been far more grand, roses and open pining, public declarations of affection. But their courtship had been a quiet, private thing, so much so that Arlo had mistaken them for good friends.

Good friends…

His eyes popped wide open, staring into darkness. Was that what it looked like between Elora and him? Did others see a _ couple _ walking through town together? Had she taken his friendliness for flirting?

….Had he _ been _ flirting…?

Flipping over under his blanket, Arlo buried his face in his pillow and huffed in frustration. He was getting absolutely _ nowhere _ with this. Relationships had always seemed like such a cut-and-dry thing to him. Why was it so hard to figure out what he wanted? Even Albert was able to nail it down, and now he had a loving wife. They’d looked so happy at their wedding, like they were meant for each other, dancing in their matching white and gold clothing. 

A thought occurred to Arlo then, one that he’d had before but quickly brushed away before it could fully form. There was a whisper of promise, both thrilling and terrifying, that made him squeeze his eyes shut against it. He’d never allowed himself to follow that line of thinking, knowing it could be dangerous if left unchecked. But what if, just this once, he indulged it? Lifting his head from the crease of his pillow, Arlo breathed deeply and let the image play out.

He saw the central plaza, lit up with fairy lights on a warm summer evening, music in the air. Everyone was dancing around him as Arlo searched the crowd, his eyes finally landing on a figure beneath the Wishing Tree. It was Elora, in her floral skirt and pink blouse, her hair braided, and her smile like the sun. He hadn’t asked her to dance at the wedding reception, some sense of duty holding him back - but here, in his mind, he extended a hand to her. Here, Elora took it, and together they twirled around the plaza in a gentle rhythm. The lights above them twinkled like stars in her eyes, and as the music slowed, Arlo pulled her close, resting his nose against the top of her head.

He gasped out loud as his chest tightened, his heart thumping against his ribs as his eyes flew open. The vision of her in his arms felt so _ right _ that it took his breath away, his hands twitching as though they longed to reach out and take hers. So sudden and intense was the feeling that it was almost frightening, like being pulled under a riptide in an otherwise calm sea.

Arlo spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, every attempt to banish the image of Elora’s body against his unsuccessful.

\-----

Dragging himself out of bed the next morning was sheer torture. Arlo had slept a grand total of an hour all night, and it showed - his reflection in the mirror was a man who looked to be half dead. He splashed his face with cold water from the sink several times, but it did nothing to help.

Remington and Sam were waiting for him in the common area of the Civil Corps, ready to accompany Paulie on their usual morning run. When they saw him, their conversation halted.

“Arlo,” Remington commented. “You look like hell.”

The room wobbled a bit. “Couldn’t sleep,” Arlo answered. “Let’s get going.”

Sam stepped between him and the door. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You might be coming down with something, maybe you should take it easy today?”

Scoffing, Arlo shook his head, his fatigue giving way to irritability. “I don’t have the luxury of ‘taking it easy.’”

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned to see Remington studying him. “You do, though,” he told Arlo, his voice firm. “That’s why you have us, to pick up the slack if you can’t.”

Arlo glanced between his two partners, each of them pinning him in place with focused stares. Remington had a point, he knew, it was just his stubborn pride that kept him standing. With a sigh, he let his shoulders slump. “Alright.”

Sam and Remington nodded, satisfied.

They tried to stop him from leaving the Civil Corps, and it took a bit of convincing, swearing up and down that he was just going for some coffee, before they stood aside and let him through. Arlo took the longer way down the hill to Peach Plaza, worried about his lack of coordination on the steep steps behind the mayor’s house. The last thing he or anyone needed was for him to trip and break his neck while stumbling in a half-asleep stupor. He knew he should eat something, but the exhaustion had made his stomach sour.

Django was at the counter when Arlo entered the otherwise empty Bistro, practically falling into his usual seat at the bar.

“You don’t look so good, Captain,” Django commented. “Can I get you anything?”

Arlo ran a hand down his face. “Coffee. Make it _ strong.” _

The brewmaster raised an eyebrow, then went about gathering his coffee items: a mug, a jar of beans, a hand grinder, and a porcelain pour-over. Arlo stared at the wood grain of the bar as the grinder droned beside him, his vision nearly fading once or twice.

“Something on your mind?”

He sucked in a sharp breath, his head snapping up. Django was pouring hot water from a kettle over a filter full of fresh grounds, and the warm scent of coffee was almost enough to make him weep. “I just couldn’t sleep last night.”

Humming, Django continued pouring, the grounds becoming darker as steam billowed up from the surface. “A troubled mind doesn’t tend to rest well,” he said. “Perhaps airing your dilemma would help?”

Arlo frowned. Even if he wanted to talk it out with someone - which he very much did _ not _\- he doubted he’d be able to. His thoughts were already a jumbled mess, even without adding in the lack of sleep, and with it, they were an impossible tangle. It would probably be easier to translate one of the dead languages from the old world than sort out what was going on inside his head.

“Maybe some other time,” he answered. Django only nodded, finishing the cup of coffee and sliding it across the bar to Arlo, who took it in both hands and inhaled the aroma. It was like a balm to his ravaged mind, his strength returning with each sip he took.

When the cup was empty, he felt slightly more alive, and left a small stack of coins before taking his leave. It was a beautiful day, clear and calm, the sun warm against his face. It was a shame he felt like death warmed over. Walking through town, he pondered a nap for all of two seconds before banishing the thought. He was not the type that could take a nap successfully; he would either sleep the rest of the day or wake up feeling even more tired than before, and both would destroy his sleep schedule in equal measure. His best bet was to stay awake until sundown, then go to bed like normal to reset himself.

While passing Gale’s home late in the afternoon, Arlo was nearly in a trance and didn’t notice Elora until she was right next to him. His breath seized in his throat, the memory of dancing with her in his fantasy practically smacking him in the face. It took several seconds to realize that she was speaking to him.

“Arlo?” She came closer, putting a hand on his arm. “Are you alright?”

Just like that, his mind emptied, the fingers on his bicep as hot as fire, even through the layers of his sleeve. “I’m--” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat to steady it. “I’m fine, just tired.”

She pressed her lips together, obviously unconvinced. “Well, let me know if I can do anything for you, okay?”

Her tone was so sincere that it made his heart do a little flip inside his chest. _ What did he want? _Arlo bit his lip as he stared down at her, words bubbling up until they all jammed together in his throat and refused to come out. “Elora,” he began. “I--”

The sound of an engine cut him off, echoing across the town. Arlo’s gaze snapped to the western sky, where a plane was flying in. At first he thought it was Mali returning, but as the aircraft grew close, it was clear that it was not the RS-001, but a much larger plane, its three engines roaring as it passed over the city.

“What in the world…?” He wondered out loud. The plane descended to land somewhere outside the Eastern gate, and Arlo experienced a brief burst of adrenaline that got his feet moving. He went straight down the stairs and made for the gate, Sam and Remington just ahead of him. 

The plane, now on the ground with its propellers slowing to a stop, was a dark blue model that Arlo had never seen before, easily big enough to transport half a dozen people. The doors opened, and out climbed a tall man in a sharp blue uniform, followed by another, much shorter man in the same garb. And just behind them, a small woman with a red cape and formal hat. Arlo’s eyes went wide as he put it all together.

“At attention,” he said quietly to his fellow Civil a Corps members. Sam and Remi immediately straightened up as the three strangers approached, the details on their uniforms becoming clearer. The woman stepped forward, and Arlo was struck by her eyes, cold and sharp.

“Welcome to Portia,” Arlo greeted, hoping he didn’t look as terrible as he still felt. “I’m Arlo, captain of the local Civil Corps. These are my associates, Sam and Remington.”

“Charmed,” she replied, her voice just as icy as her gaze. “I am Captain Ursula of the Lucien Council Guard. This is Ten and Ryder.” The men beside her gave a curt nod. “I don’t mean to be rude, but we’ve come a long way and need to speak with the mayor as soon as possible.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Turning to Sam, Arlo motioned towards the town. “Escort them to the mayor’s office. Remi, go have a word with Presley to arrange lodging for our guests. I’ll track down Gale.”

“Right.”

“On it.”

He turned to head back the way he came, knowing that Gale was likely at home with Ginger this time of day. As he neared the Wishing Tree, he saw Elora standing by it, her eyebrows pinched together.

“Everything alright?” She asked hesitantly.

Arlo sighed. “I certainly hope so.”

\-----

Ursula’s meeting with Gale in his office took the better part of an hour. While the mayor was originally less than happy to have dinner with his family interrupted, his tone changed quickly when he learned who was waiting for him. If Arlo hadn’t been so thoroughly exhausted, he might have appreciated Gale’s negotiation skills a little more as the Lucien Guard explained their role in the town. It boiled down to locating the All Source and getting it safely out of Portia, and doing it all as quietly as possible.

“I’m surprised to see someone of your status on this mission, Captain,” Gale commented cheerfully. “All this trouble for our little town. We were expecting to see Mali again.”

Ursula, who had removed her hat, tucked a lock of snow white hair behind her ear and sipped from the mug of tea she’d been served. “Mali is skilled, but I’m afraid this is a matter far above the guild. As the retrieval of the All Source concerns the safety of the entire Alliance, my orders are directly from the council themselves.”

“To be certain!” Gale put on his best politician smile. “Well then, on behalf of our city, we welcome you. Rest assured that we will cooperate however we can to make your mission as smooth as possible.”

Ursula’s smile was so, so cold. “Much appreciated, Mister Mayor.”

They disbanded after that, the Lucien officers heading for Django’s restaurant for a meal before retiring to their room at Yeye’s motel. Arlo, who had begun to feel ill halfway through their talks, politely declined. The sun was beginning to set, meaning he was clear to finally let himself pass out. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this tired.

As he passed Gale’s home and started up the ramp to the Civil Corps, a wave of vertigo hit him, and Arlo stumbled, catching himself on the handrail as everything around him spun. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his stomach to calm down. Was he really this bad off from one missed night of sleep?

“Whoa, hey,” a hand was on his. “Easy, I got you.”

It was a few seconds before he felt like he could open his eyes without being sick. Elora was beside him, in the same brown Meidi coat she’d been wearing earlier, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Come on,” she said softly, looping an arm around one of his. “Let’s get you home.”

Arlo let himself be led, sagging against Elora as she half dragged him up the ramp. His vision was blinking in and out as they entered the Civil Corps, and it was by sheer miracle that Arlo managed to get himself to the bathroom to clean up and change into the sweats he’d left on the hamper that morning.

He expected Elora to be gone when he came out, fully intent on crawling under his covers and not coming out for at least twelve hours. Instead he found her in his room, turning down the blankets on his bed. Too tired to question her presence, he trudged over, falling into the sheets, grunting as it jostled his still distressed stomach. He was barely aware of Elora tucking him in, dragging the comforter up and over his shoulders.

As the world faded, Arlo felt the mattress dip. A hand was in his hair, pushing his bangs aside and sending little tingles washing over him. He sighed, leaning into the sensation, as he finally succumbed to darkness.

\-----

Arlo rose at dawn the next morning, feeling well-rested and awake. He showered and dressed, trying to work through his memories from the day before, addled and porose from his lack of sleep. He remembered the arrival of Ursula and her team, and a plan to find the All Source, but it got a little muddy after that. As he straightened his sheets and blankets, he was struck with the faintest image of Elora putting him to bed - did he dream that? It felt too real to have been imagined, remembering her fingers in his hair. Arlo’s face went hot with embarrassment as he yanked at the comforter. That would be _ twice _ she’d cared for him when he could barely hold himself up. Mali’s lecture about love whispered somewhere in a corner of his mind, and Arlo grumbled out loud to silence it.

After a quick breakfast at the Round Table, which thankfully this time didn’t need to be accompanied by coffee, Arlo did his rounds. The air was quickly gaining a chill, the sides of Main Street slowly gathering piles of brown leaves. He’d need to take his heavier jacket out of storage soon.

Central Plaza was bathed in sunlight, cutting through the thinning foliage of the Wishing Tree, which had turned a brilliant gold. Scanning the area, Arlo saw the usual sights: Martha and Carol doing their morning stretches, the children bickering playfully as they walked to school, Xu leaving through the Eastern Gate with his canvas bag to gather herbs. He took comfort in the routine, especially given the ordeal with the All Source that they were about to face. The rest of Portia didn’t know about their mission, and it was better that way.

The jingle of a cash register brought his attention to Mars’ shop, where Elora stood, making a purchase. She turned and noticed him, her face breaking into a wide smile as she approached. Arlo felt his pulse quicken.

“Hey,” she greeted. “Feeling better?”

Clearing his throat, Arlo nodded. “Yeah.” After a pause, he added, “Thanks for looking out for me.”

She shrugged. “No problem.”

They stood in the street for several seconds, neither breaking eye contact. The moment felt so loaded that Arlo almost turned away, overwhelmed. Should he say something now? Say _ what? _ That he wanted to talk? His brain was moving too fast for him to keep up.

“Arlo, Elora!”

Remington’s baritone shattered his thoughts, approaching them both. “We’re needed in Gale’s office, pronto.”

Arlo blinked. Right. The mission. That was beginning today. Glancing at Elora, he saw something warm flash in her eyes before she started walking up the hill towards Peach Plaza. Arlo shook his head and followed. He had a duty to protect Portia and its people - this thing between Elora and him, whatever it was, would have to wait.

\-----

  


Phase one of their quest to track down the All Source had Arlo accompanying Ryder into the ruins to look for clues. He’d told Ursula that they had already done an investigation and found nothing, but the Lucien Captain wasn’t satisfied, sending them off with a gruff dismissal. Her standoffish nature was unpleasant, but Arlo knew how to follow orders. Halfway to the ruins, Ryder gestured back at the town.

“Oy, I know the captain seems cold, but she’s good at her job. Don’t take it personally.”

Arlo nodded. “I’m sure she is.”

Their first day of searching turned up nothing that hadn’t already been documented, and Ryder suggested they expand their search. By the third day, they were outside the ruin, combing the countryside. Arlo was proud to show off his expert tracking skills - of which Ryder was greatly lacking, citing that he was more of a city man. Still, they found nothing of real substance, and Arlo’s frustration began to grow, beginning to feel helpless.

On the fifth day, Ryder suggested they rethink their investigation, and called for a break. The temperatures were quickly dropping as winter approached, the Fall Festival right around the corner. He’d have to talk to Ursula about taking a day off for it, hoping that he could make the argument of needing to protect the people as they gathered together. His route back to town took him by Elora’s workshop, where she was out at her assembly table, bent over a complicated looking set of circuits with a soldering iron.

Leaning over the fence, he waited until she put the iron aside, not wanting to startle her and ruin her work. Elora eventually put the tool down, sighing as she popped her neck.

“What’s that?” He asked. Her head whipped to him, a smudge of soot across the bridge of her nose.

“Transformer,” she answered. “The ruins where we think the first key is has some locked doors that aren’t getting power because the one that was there was busted, so I have to build a new one.”

Arlo whistled. “Quite a tall order.”

Elora shook her head and gestured at the bulky shell she was working on. “This is the best Petra could give me, but the original one I pulled out was maybe a _ sixth _ the size. I have no idea how the people of the old world managed that kind of tech.”

“Who even knows,” he agreed. “When is this getting installed?”

Standing, Elora put her hands on her hips and huffed. She looked tired. “Tomorrow. Ursula wants this taken care of ASAP, so I probably have a late night ahead of me.”

He frowned. It’d been less than a week and they were already on the cusp of obtaining the first key. Something seemed off, like there should be more red tape, more procedure to the whole thing. Leaning further over the fence, Arlo lowered his voice.

“Does it feel like this is all happening rather fast to you?”

Elora’s eyebrows went up into her hair. “I… hadn’t really thought about it. Why?”

Chewing his lip, Arlo studied the grass below him. Maybe it was just his imagination, spurred by the unusual nature of their predicament. “It’s probably nothing,” he answered, straightening up. “Try not to pull an all-nighter, they’re bad for you.”

One corner of her mouth quirked up. “Speaking from experience?”

Arlo ignored how his cheeks went warm. “Maybe,” he said, then turned and walked back to town, waving over his shoulder.

\-----

Just before dinner time the next day, Ten and Elora came out of the ruins next to the tree farm, scuffed up and dirty. They went straight for Gale’s office to debrief with Ursula, Arlo keeping quiet as Ten talked about their experience with the first key. Elora looked exhausted, a bruise forming on the right side of her jaw, reddish purple against the pallor of her skin.

Once they were dismissed, Arlo subtly steered her towards the Round Table, guiding her to a booth where she not so much sat as fell into the seat. He ordered a bowl of stewed mushrooms and a plate of seafood noodles for her, accompanied by a milk scented tea.

“Thanks,” Elora said as she sipped at her drink. “That ruin was tough.”

“Did you get any sleep at all?” Arlo asked. She gave a half-hearted nod.

“Yeah, not as much as I would’ve liked, though.”

The food came, Sonia setting down the plates and bowls with a wink. Elora ate slowly, wincing more than once as she chewed, occasionally touching the bruise on her jaw. Their conversation was quiet, mostly short answers as the circles under her eyes darkened.

Arlo frowned as he regarded her. “Alright, you’re taking tomorrow off.”

She looked up at him without raising her head, clearly surprised. He held up a finger to cut off any potential protests.

“No arguing,” Arlo said firmly. “You’ve run yourself ragged again. Sleep in tomorrow, no commissions, no work. Go soak in the hot springs and then take a nap. You _ need _ it.”

Elora blinked, then exhaled on a laugh, shaking her head. “I think I can manage that.”

“Good.”

She finished eating before the plates were empty, and Arlo walked her to her fence, only turning away once she’d gone inside her house and shut the door behind her.

\-----

The next morning was quiet and serene. Sunshine drenched the town in one last burst of warmth before the chill of winter would begin its slow arrival. The autumn festival was only a few days away, and thankfully it had only taken minimal effort to convince Ursula and her team to postpone their operations and join in the festivities. Arlo passed by Sophie’s farm and saw Emily loading what looked to be a massive pumpkin into a cart - a shoe-in for the harvest competition, as the squash was nearly the size of a horse.

He passed Elora once, riding her horse in a slow walk back to her yard. A glance at her rosy cheeks and damp hair told Arlo that she’d followed his advice and spent some time at the hot springs. She waved at him before returning to her home, climbing the ramp that circled her house to the balcony, where she sat in a swinging chair.

As he finished his afternoon rounds, Arlo was flagged down by Gale, who invited him into his home to discuss the autumn festival. Once there, he was served coffee by Russo while he sat across from the mayor at their family dining table.

“Now that you’re here,” Gale said as he stirred a sugar cube into his mug, “I wanted to know your feelings on the matter of the retrieval of the All Source.”

Arlo stopped mid-sip. “What do you mean?”

Sighing, Gale cupped his hands around his cup of coffee. “Something about all of this just isn’t sitting right with me,” he said, keeping the volume of his voice low. “I’ve telegraphed our representative, but they tell me that the council voted unanimously on the matter.”

He’d heard as much from Ursula, but Gale’s visible unease had Arlo’s attention. “That concerns you?”

Gale added another sugar cube to his coffee. “The council _ never _ acts this quickly,” he explained. “And getting them to vote unanimously on anything is usually impossible.”

Dread began churning in Arlo’s gut. “You suspect foul play?”

“I don’t know.” Gale rubbed at his forehead. “But I can’t go against the council’s wishes without damaging Portia’s status within the Alliance, and I don’t have any concrete evidence to suggest there might be something wrong.”

Arlo sipped his coffee. “I’ve had a similar feeling,” he admitted. “Like there’s a piece I’m missing.”

Laughing, Gale drank from his mug. “Well, at least I’m not entirely crazy. My hands are tied in this instance - there’s not much else I can do except keep my eyes and ears open.”

“I’ll see if I can do some discreet digging,” Arlo suggested. He finished his coffee and thanked Russo, who gave a small bow.

“Be careful, Arlo,” Gale warned. “Don’t put yourself in danger for this. It might just be an old man’s paranoia.”

Arlo nodded. “Will do, boss.”

Later that night, as Arlo went to bed, he stared at the bottom drawer of his dresser where the cipher was still carefully hidden, and said a small prayer that he wouldn’t have to open it.

\-----

The cold wind that had been blowing into town thankfully ceased on the day of the festival, the day hovering somewhere between warm and cold as the stalls and cooking stations were set up. Alice recruited the children to help her hang decorations, and by noon, Peace Plaza was bustling with activity. Ursula seemed to mostly watch from a distance, while Ten and Ryder decided to take part as fully as they could. It was refreshing to see the town alight with laughter and cheers, rising in volume as Emily’s gigantic pumpkin - which she’d apparently named _ The Pumpkin Princess _ \- won first prize by a landslide.

Arlo shared a toast with Elora, who was looking far better after a few days away from her typically grueling work schedule. The color had returned to her face, her hands and arms not covered in scrapes and bandages for once. He watched her compete in the cooking competition, and it might have been a trick of the late afternoon light, but Elora looked like she was glowing. Seeing her healthy and relaxed, Arlo wondered if he’d ever understand why she ran herself into the ground the way she did. Her focus and dedication was admirable, but sometimes it almost bordered on self-destructive.

\-----

  


Work resumed at dawn the next morning, the easy mood of the fall festival dissipating like steam. Ursula’s temperament seemed as frigid as ever, though Arlo had seen her clearly enjoying herself the day before. Elora was hard at work on a giant metal ramp to get to the Somber Marsh, hauling several carts worth of steel beams out to the Collapsed Wasteland. As the sun set, the glow of her welding torch could still be seen from a distance, lighting up the area well into the night.

Three days later, the ramp was completed, and Arlo took it upon himself to personally escort Elora back to her home. The project seemed to have snuffed out the cheerful radiance she’d carried at the Fall Festival, replacing it with the pale, exhausted demeanor that Arlo was learning to hate, her hands and arms once again littered with bandages.

It was barely lunchtime when he deposited the worn-out builder in her home. Arlo was just beginning to ponder going to Ursula when Ryder summoned him to the makeshift office she’d set up at Yeye’s motel.

He found Ursula at an old wooden table that was strewn with maps and charts, her hat and cape removed as she made markings on them in neat, tight cursive. She didn’t look up right away when he entered.

“Arlo,” Ursula greeted. “Good. I wanted to let you know that we’re beginning our operation inside the Marsh ruins tomorrow at oh-nine hundred.” She stood, her chair scraping the floor. “I’m bringing your Corps member Sam as well, so I suggest you deputize a citizen to guard the city in your absence. I’m also bringing along Higgins and Elora in case we need a builder while inside.”

Arlo frowned. Elora didn’t need to be flung back into action in a dangerous ruin, she needed _ rest. _ “Captain, if I may, I would prefer it if Elora did not accompany us.”

Ursula stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. “And might I ask why?”

He was caught off guard by the question. Saying ‘she’s my friend and I want her to take a break’ probably wouldn’t get him far. Arlo paused as he searched for a more suitable reason, remembering how he’d carried Elora out of the ruins on the Western Plateau with a concussion thanks to the Rogue Knight.

“She’s a civilian,” he answered. “I believe it irresponsible to ask her to accompany us on such a dangerous mission.”

One of Ursula’s eyebrows arched. “According to my report from Ten, she seemed to fair well on the mission to obtain the First Key. I don’t see why she can’t do it again.”

Arlo frowned. “She was seriously wounded during our encounter with the Rogue Knight. I would prefer not to put anyone in unnecessary jeopardy-”

“Mister Arlo,” Ursula’s voice cut through the air like a blade, silencing him. Her blue eyes burned. “As commander of this mission, I assure you that I have weighed the options thoroughly. Elora’s skills are necessary. And if _ you _ are worth your salt, you shouldn’t have a problem protecting _ one girl.” _ She cocked her head. “Is that clear?”

Arlo felt his blood run cold. He’d never felt so aware of his position until that moment. “Yes, ma’am,” he breathed.

“I’m glad we are in agreement.” Ursula sat at her desk again, picking up a map. “I expect you bright and early tomorrow morning. Dismissed.”

Nodding once, Arlo turned and left, feeling panicked and numb. He’d just tried to argue with a superior officer - what was he thinking? He could have risked his entire career, and for what, to make sure a friend could take a _ nap? _

It was even worse if Gale’s suspicions held water. He could be bringing Elora into a trap.

As he rode back to town, he glanced in the direction of Elora’s workshop, a light shining in one of the windows. He didn’t have a choice, and though he knew Elora technically did, he doubted she’d turn down Ursula’s request. Arlo clenched his jaw - he was powerless. He would just have to do a better job of watching Elora’s back and make sure she got out uninjured this time.

\-----

  


The next morning was bitterly cold, a sharp wind slicing through Portia and bringing a curtain of late-autumn snow with it, tiny flakes that fogged the air. Arlo’s room was frigid, the evening before not cold enough to warrant lighting his stove. He layered up two shirts and a thin sweater under his jacket, thankful that he’d bathed before bed - he doubted he’d be able to get much hot water out of the ancient water heater now.

He was met with a blast of cold as he left the Civil Corps, stopping to add fresh feed in the stable and blanket his horse before beginning the walk to the ruin. It was cold enough that the trek through the Collapsed Wasteland was slippery, the wind biting into Arlo through all his layers. At the base of the new ramp stood Starlight, a long blanket over her as she nibbled at what grass still peeked through the gathering snow, her master nowhere in sight.

Ursula and her team were already waiting at the ruin entrance, along with Higgins, Sam, and Elora, who was bundled up in a thick coat with fur trim, her cheeks and nose red from the cold.

“Right on time,” Ursula greeted, dressed in only her usual uniform, as though the freezing temperatures didn’t bother her at all. “Let’s head inside.”

Once inside, the steady cool of the underground ruin felt warm compared to the snow and wind. Elora shed her heavy coat, dropping it by a panel, choosing to go on in the much lighter cropped jacket she wore underneath. Ursula led them deeper into the ruin, the natural sunlight fading as they went, replaced by the harsh, artificial blue of the powered lights on the walls.

“Here is where we split up.” Ursula pointed at the path that divided before them, forking in either direction. “I will take Arlo and Elora on the left path. Ten will take Sam and Higgins on the right path.”

“You got it, boss,” Ten said, twirling one of his curved blades.

The two teams went in opposite directions, with Ursula leading the way. Arlo fell into step beside Elora, who carried a Nova Sword on her back and a pouch of tools on her hip. She looked a bit more rested than she had the day before, but the skin under her eyes was still a touch darker than the rest of her face. Arlo faced forward, vowing to himself that once this was all over, he was putting her under house arrest for a whole week and forcing her to take a vacation.

They encountered Sentinels, gigantic man-shaped things that were neither human nor machine, that were tough as nails and had Arlo dodging as fast as he could. Ursula, he found out, was quite the skilled fighter, tearing her enemies apart with relative ease. She seemed to barely break a sweat while Arlo and Elora were left panting. Her strength was certainly that of a Council Guard captain, but there was still that seed of doubt festering in Arlo’s mind. Clearing his throat, he decided to enact his plan to subtly probe her team for information.

“Captain,” he began as they walked through a quiet, empty hallway. “I’ve a friend in the Council Guards. Stanza, do you know him?”

Ursula didn’t even look his way. “No idle talk, Mister Arlo.”

Arlo swallowed hard. Not a good sign - she could have easily given a yes or no, which logically should have been ‘no,’ given that _ Stanza _ was the name of his childhood dog. Or perhaps it was just that Ursula was the strictly business type and didn’t feel like humoring small conversation while on a mission. Either way, Arlo kept his mouth shut. It wouldn’t do him any good to jump to conclusions.

As they descended further into the ruin, the air became thick, musty and stale. It was unlikely that anyone had been inside this ruin in hundreds of years, the metal floors covered in an increasingly thick layer of dust. Ursula had been right about needing Elora on the mission, as they’d encountered several broken and locked doors that Arlo doubted he would have been able to fix. One such door took all three of them to wrench open, the hinges rusted through. On the other side was a platform suspended over what looked to be a twenty-story drop to a dimly lit landing far below. At the other side of the gap, several feet down, another platform that looked to be connected to a vertical track sat motionless.

“Dead end?” Arlo asked as they all scanned the area for another way across.

“It looks like that thing,” Elora pointed to the other platform, “Is an elevator with an extending bridge. Probably a security measure.”

Ursula hummed, twirling her steel cane. “There hasn’t been a fork in our path for some time. Backtracking now would take a while.”

Arlo frowned, examining the walls to see if there was anything to hold on to and climb across. They looked to be smooth with few footholds - too dangerous. One slip and they’d plummet to their deaths. He started to ponder finding a rope when a metallic clank came from behind him, followed by pounding footsteps.

He turned just in time to see Elora take a flying leap across the gap, extending her arms and legs to land and roll on the opposite platform with a loud thump and a grunt. Arlo gasped, his heart flying into his throat.

Beside him, Ursula chuckled. “Someone here has initiative.”

Arlo barely heard her, staring at Elora as she took a spanner from her hip and used it to pry open a panel on the side of the platform. It was easily ten feet across - what if she’d slipped during her jump? What if she’d missed? A brief flash of a broken body at the bottom of a chasm passed through his mind, and Arlo had to swallow bile, his whole body chilled through.

Elora fiddled with wires behind the panel, pulling her hand back once or twice as sparks flew out. Eventually the platform sputtered to life, several lights coming on as Elora wrestled with a rusted lever. It gave way, and the elevator ground as it slowly rose, coming to a stop when it was level with where Arlo and Ursula stood. A segmented pathway lurched forward, forming a bridge, which Ursula quickly walked across.

“Good work,” She told Elora.

Arlo was frozen on the spot for several seconds. He finally managed to move, turning to pick up the Nova Sword that Elora had dropped before crossing the bridge to meet her. He held it out to her, handle first, and suddenly his shock gave way to anger. When Elora clasped the hilt of the sword, Arlo gave it a gentle jerk, not letting go.

“That was reckless,” he said, unable to keep the hurt from his voice. Elora blinked up at him, taken aback.

“There was no other way across,” she answered, as though it were obvious.

Arlo gripped the sword handle tighter, feeling his skin stretch over his knuckles. “You could have gotten yourself _ killed.” _

Elora’s eyebrows pinched together. “But I _ didn’t.” _

He tugged at the sword. “What if you’d missed?”

She tugged back. “Arlo, I know what I’m doing-”

A sharp _ thwap _ cut both of them off. “Would the two of you kindly save the lover’s spat for later?” Ursula snapped. “We have a job to do.”

The hot rage in Arlo’s gut vanished in an instant, replaced with cold, then hot again as blood rushed to his face fast enough to make him dizzy. He met Elora’s eyes for a fraction of a second before jerking his gaze to the floor, slowly releasing his hold on her sword. At the edges of his vision, he saw her take the weapon and hook it to her back, then walk forward to catch up with Ursula. Arlo followed numbly, the sudden flood of embarrassment sending his pulse racing.

He dared a cautious sideways glance at Elora. Her cheeks were brilliant red as she marched, her eyes firmly set ahead as they continued in silence.

They went down four more levels, the AI guardians becoming stronger. Arlo could feel his strength waning; he wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer. One of the hovering machines nearly had him, barreling towards him as he fought off another Sentinel - until Elora rushed in, slamming her sword into the joints of its propellers. She’d probably saved his life.

When the dust settled and the machines were all down, Arlo slowed his walk until he was next to Elora, far enough from Ursula that he felt comfortable lowering his voice.

“Hey,” he said softly, not looking her way. “Sorry I snapped at you earlier.”

Beside him, Elora sighed. “No,” she whispered back. “You were right, that was reckless.”

Arlo held up the hand that was closer to her, knuckles out. After a moment, Elora’s gloved knuckles tapped once against his.

\-----

By the time they reached the bottom, Arlo was having a hard time hiding his exhaustion, his undershirt now soaked with sweat. Elora offered to share some dried apple slices she’d brought along, which helped a bit, though she looked to be in the same boat, her face flushed. Even Ursula’s breathing had become labored, though she showed no other signs of wear and tear.

Entering a wide room, they were greeted with brief silence until alarms began blaring.

“Looks like we’re in the right place,” Ursula commented. Right on cue, the door behind them slammed shut. At the center of the room, the floor opened up, a platform rising and bringing with it some sort of twisted, gnarled machine. Arlo cracked his neck and dug deep.

The AI was straight out of his nightmares, a horrifying thing that screeched and undulated, contorting itself to follow Arlo as he dodged. The battle dragged on for what felt like an hour until the AI finally shuddered and stopped, toppling over into a heap on the floor. Arlo’s right knee gave out, and he fell to it, his throat aching as he panted for air. On the other side of the room, Elora leaned forward with her hands on her thighs, her face dripping with sweat.

“That was certainly an ordeal,” Ursula huffed, finally looking as though she’d expended energy. “Let’s activate the key and get out of here.”

He couldn’t agree more.

\-----

  


They met up with the other team and exited the ruins, Elora stopping to fetch her heavy coat as they left. Arlo let out an involuntary yelp as the wind hit him - it was bad enough that it was still well below freezing, but after hours fighting in a ruin, his skin and clothes were still damp with sweat, and it chilled him through to the bone. He wrapped his arms around himself as they crossed the ramp, Ursula and her team going straight for an awaiting Dee Dee and climbing in. Sam and Higgins seemed content to walk through the snow, briskly making their way back to town. Arlo didn’t know what they’d been through on their path, but they both looked to be in much better shape than he was.

Trudging through the snow, Arlo tried to ignore his stomach. He was ravenously hungry and in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes, but before he could have that, he’d either have to wait another thirty minutes on the next Dee Dee, or spend thirty minutes walking. Neither seemed pleasant, but at least the walk would keep him moving.

“Arlo?”

He looked up to see Elora atop her horse, trotting his way. She pulled the reins, bringing Starlight to a stop. “Do you want a ride back to town?”

He stopped to face her. The idea of not having to get himself back was tempting, the snow falling heavier by the minute. But they’d barely spoken since the incident in the ruin, which now hung over them like a cloud. _ Lover’s spat. _ It rang in his ears, heat seeping into his cheeks against the chill. Part of him wanted to turn her down, fearful of what proximity would do to him - but a much larger part of him was beginning to go numb from the cold.

Nodding, Arlo approached the saddle. “Yeah, thanks.”

Elora scooted forwards, taking her foot from the stirrup so Arlo could use it. Starlight gave a huff as he put his boot into the metal swing and pulled himself into the saddle behind Elora, settling in. With nowhere else to hold on to, Arlo put his hands on her hips, padded by her thick coat, as Elora clicked her tongue and set her horse walking.

They rode slowly, Elora as unwilling to risk her horse slipping as Arlo would have been. The wind still bit at them, but it was definitely warmer here than walking alone, pressed up against Elora’s back, the heat that radiated from her body making Arlo vaguely sleepy. As they started up the steep hill towards the Civil Corps, he had no choice but to lean into her to help her horse balance on the slope. Arlo bit his tongue, adamantly refusing to notice how her thighs felt pressed against his in the saddle.

She deposited him at the door of the Civil Corps, each of them saying a quick goodbye before going their separate ways. Arlo went straight for his room to fetch clean clothes, then resigned himself to a short, lukewarm shower. Once he was dressed and better layered for the cold, he put on dry boots and headed for the Round Table for a much needed meal.

He ate alone, picking at his spicy noodles despite how his stomach rumbled and demanded food. The whole ordeal with the keys, the All Source, and Ursula was more than enough to occupy his mind and dampen his appetite - and that was without the complication of Elora and the blatant electricity between them, so strong that even Ursula had caught on. Arlo found himself wanting more than ever to address it, drag it out into the light, figure out what it was that his heart wanted. And the way Elora looked at him, the way she’d blushed at Ursula’s comment - it was like they were in some sort of stalemate, neither willing to move until the other moved first.

Arlo’s temple throbbed as he set down his fork. There was so much on his proverbial plate that it made his body feel heavy and slow. He’d spent his whole life dreaming of grand adventures, but now that one was on his doorstep, he wanted nothing more than for it to be over and done with so everything could return to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> deleted scene: Ursula goes out to the desert in the middle of the night to meet with a cloaked figure in the darkness. She tells them, "It seems the Captain has a weakness - the builder girl. Be ready to exploit it if necessary."
> 
> >:}


	13. Winter 3 part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOHOHOHO. And here we go >:} This is unbeta'd, so feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Once again, MASSIVE SPOILERS for the late parts of the game's plot. Read at your own risk!

After the activation of the Second Key, Portia seemed to settle into an old familiar rhythm as winter officially began. Residents walked the streets bundled up in coats and scarves as the tourists dwindled, and the first heavy snowfall had half the town out with shovels and brooms to clear the roads of snow and ice. The air was crisp and cold, tinged with the aroma of wood fires.

The topic of what happened in the ruins between Arlo and Elora didn’t come up, not even once. They’d talked several times, even had a meal together at the Round Table, but neither spoke of it. He couldn’t tell if Elora wanted to forget it and move on, or if she was as afraid to approach the topic as he was. A guilty voice in his mind told him he was stalling. Which might have been true - but they were also both tied up in a mission that could very well decide Portia’s future. Complicating matters with their personal affairs was ill-advised at best, especially given that they were working together on said mission.

Watching Elora at a distance, Arlo made a decision: after Ursula left, he would have a talk with her and figure out, once and for all, what they were.

\-----

The third key was located a week later, deep in a ruin on the other side of the Somber Marsh. Higgins had snatched up the opportunity to build the bridge to get there, and Arlo was oddly glad, as it looked to be twice as complex as the ramp that Elora had exhausted herself constructing. The real issue turned out to be the ruin itself, the interior filled with toxic gas that could explode from a single spark. Ursula had the situation under control within hours, bringing a diagram for an exhaust fan from the Research Center and placing it directly in Elora’s hands. Arlo had little doubt that Ursula would ask the builder to accompany them inside this ruin as well, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. Despite his growing suspicions, there was still no word from Mali, and no concrete evidence of treachery. Even their representative on the Council had telegrammed Gale, assuring him that all was well.

Arlo found himself glancing at the bottom drawer of his dresser more and more often with each passing day.

Elora completed the exhaust fan quickly, setting it up at the mouth of the ruin to blow out the toxic gas. She went straight for her seat at the Round Table upon returning, and Arlo joined her for their usual Thursday night drinks. Conversation between them was light and carefree, his unease disappearing in the builder’s presence.

“That fan was probably one of the easiest things I’ve built in months,” She commented, sipping at a mug of hot spiced wine. “It’s going to take a few days before the ruin is safe to enter, though.”

Arlo eyed the bandage around her right ring finger. “No soldering iron burns this time?”

Elora laughed softly. “Not this time, thankfully.”

“You should take better care of your hands,” Arlo said, half scolding. “You can’t do much work if they’re covered in bandages.”

She rolled her eyes. “Believe me, I already got that lecture from Antoine. He all but threw a jar of skin cream at me last month.” Setting down her drink, Elora turned both of her hands upward to examine her palms. “I was skeptical, but it turns out that stuff actually_ works.” _

Arlo pursed his lips. Encouraged by the punch in his glass, he took Elora’s hands in his, running his thumb along the seams of either one. The skin was still calloused, but far less than it had been the last time he’d held her hand, the center of her palm soft and smooth.

His gaze flicked up to find Elora watching him through her lashes, the lights of nearby candles dancing in her eyes. Arlo’s hold on her hands tightened as he drew in a breath, fixed in place by her stare.

A clattering of silverware jolted him out of his trance, the sound followed by laughter and chatter. The noise of the restaurant cut in around him, Arlo becoming keenly aware that they were not alone, and he was still holding Elora’s hands. He let go as nonchalantly as he could and reached for his drink.

“So it seems,” he said, taking a sip to cool his warm cheeks.

Elora shrugged. “I’ll let you borrow some.”

Chuckling, Arlo shook his head. “And soften my ‘rugged’ charm? I think not.”

She laughed openly, leaning back on her bar stool, the sound sweet and bright.

\-----

The ruin was left to air out for five days. When it was deemed safe to explore - something Arlo _ finally _ had a say in - Ursula took Elora and Remington inside, leaving Arlo behind to keep watch. He would have felt much better if he could have gone in with them, but the sharp glance that Ursula shot his way had him nodding with a quick “yes, ma’am.” He knew he could trust Remington, which eased some of his unrest, but as the hours ticked by, Arlo began pacing at the mouth of the ruin. If he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn Ten and Ryder were amused at his impatience.

The church bells rang out three times in the distance as the ground began to shift. Just over the line of trees, the top of a ruin suddenly began to lurch and spin, rising up from the snow.

Ryder whistled. “Looks like they did it.”

Indeed they had, but all Arlo could think about was how their secret operation was no longer a secret. Everyone in town likely heard the commotion, or at least felt the tremors - and it would be impossible to hide how a ruin in the marsh had doubled in height out of the blue.

Ursula, Remi, and Elora came tumbling out of the ruin shortly after, each of them wearing heavy gas masks. Elora stumbled away from the entrance, yanking off her mask and panting heavily as she leaned on her knees.

Arlo went to her side. She looked pale. “Are you alright?”

Elora didn’t look up. “No air in there,” she wheezed, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of her face. Nearby, Remington and Ursula removed their masks, their breathing labored.

“That was unpleasant,” Ursula commented, smoothing down her hair. Remington put his hands on his hips and nodded.

“I’ll say. Were the other ruins like this? Jeeze.”

Ursula handed her mask back to Ten and replaced her guard cap. “They certainly didn’t give us trouble breathing. We now know the location of the All Source,” Ursula barked as she twirled her cane. “I want a guard at the entrance at all times. I’m going to contact HQ about our next move.”

There were several nods of affirmation, but Arlo was far more concerned with Elora, who hadn’t risen from where she was hunched over. Putting a hand on her back and another around her arm, he pulled her up.

“Come on,” he said softly. “You need to get home.”

She put up zero resistance as he led her away from the ruins and across the bridge to the tree farm, where thankfully a Dee Dee was pulling up at the brand new stop. Arlo loaded her into the seat, getting in next to her and pulling her close as the little car lumbered through the snow covered trees. When they got out at the Peach Plaza stop, Elora collapsed briefly, Arlo catching her easily and hauling her back to her feet.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “God, my head hurts.”

Arlo tightened the arm around her waist. “I’ve got you.”

He walked her into her house, the interior warm and dry as he brought her straight to her bed, where Elora sat heavily on top of the comforter with a pitiful whine.

“Do you have any painkillers?” Arlo asked. Elora rubbed her forehead, her whole expression pinched.

“Bathroom,” she ground out, gesturing vaguely to her left. “Medicine cabinet behind the mirror.”

Leaving her sitting on her bed, Arlo went straight for the bathroom, popping open the mirror over the sink. The interior was crowded with odds and ends; a comb, hair ties, a toothbrush, and - Arlo noticed with a grin - a jar of skin cream. Tucked in a corner was a bottle with the logo of Doctor Xu’s clinic, the same one he had in his own room. Arlo grabbed it and shook out two tablets before replacing the bottle and closing the cabinet.

He stopped in the kitchen to find a glass and fill it with water from the tap, then went back to the bedroom. Elora was still where he’d left her, but she’d removed her boots and outer layers, now down to a tee shirt and leggings. He offered her the pills and water, which she swallowed, emptying the glass in three gulps.

“Thanks.” Her voice was thin and weak. Arlo took the glass from her hand and set it aside, then motioned at the comforter she sat on.

“Alright, into bed with you,” he ordered gently. Elora shifted around until she could pull the blankets out from under herself, Arlo reaching over to hold them up as she shuffled beneath them. He tucked her in, much like she had done to him that night he was too sleep deprived to function, Elora settling onto her pillow and closing her eyes.

Her hair was frazzled, coming out of its braid every which way. Arlo smoothed the strands from her face with his palm, tucking them behind her ear. Elora sighed and leaned into his touch, the sound making something flutter under his ribs.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, stroking her hair until he was sure she was asleep.

\-----

Three days passed, the weather so cold that the air burned Arlo’s cheeks as he did his rounds. Winter had come for them with a vengeance that year, it seemed, the board in the Commerce Guild overrun with commissions for firewood, scarves, blankets, and heaters. Banding together with Remington and Sam, Arlo repaired the gaps in the walls of the Civil Corps stable to protect their horses from the wind, adding extra hay to insulate the animals. Spacer was visibly annoyed despite his long blanket, his breath fogging the air as he huffed.

“Sorry, friend,” Arlo soothed, stroking his horse’s nose. “I can’t control the weather.”

He received a gentle nip to his fingers in response.

\-----

Guarding the newly revealed ruin was done in shifts, Arlo taking several and rotating with his and Ursula’s team. Though he did his job and would remain alert and attentive for the eight hours he was stationed at the ruin entrance, it was painfully boring. There was nothing out at the marsh, especially not in the winter, not even animals to listen to, just the creaking of snow covered trees around him. Dinner and drinks at the Round Table afterwards was a welcome respite, the noise and chatter of the townsfolk in for a hot meal helping to dull the buzzing in his ears that the hours of silence had brought on.

Elora joined him often, sometimes at their usual bar seats, sometimes sitting next to him in a booth to share a hot pot with several others. As Albert told a ridiculous story one night that made everyone chuckle, Arlo was struck with the realization that he loved the sound of Elora’s laugh, how it rang clear and sweet as she laughed freely and openly. He tried to focus on his food, almost wanting to laugh at himself, and how he was becoming more aware of just how deep he was in.

Arlo put a hot pepper into the pot and grinned wide at Elora’s half-hearted protests, thankful that their mission would soon be over. The thought filled him with giddy anticipation as he walked her to the edge of Peach Plaza, trading their usual brand of lighthearted jokes at the other’s expense. Waving a goodnight, Arlo watched Elora walk away until she was at her door, then sighed as he turned to make his way back to the Civil Corps.

\-----

Early the next morning, Ursula summoned the Civil Corps, along with Higgins and Elora, to Gale’s office. Her orders had come in, and they were to investigate the newly discovered ruin, and - if possible - retrieve the All Source and bring it back to HQ immediately. Arlo had to hold in a sigh of relief. It was almost over.

They were given the rest of the day to prepare for the mission, Ursula snapping at them to be at the ruins by oh-eight hundred sharp the following morning. Arlo wasn’t entirely pleased with Elora’s continued involvement, especially given that this was likely to be the most dangerous part of the mission yet, but it wasn’t worth it to argue with Ursula. As he did his rounds, he stopped by the clinic to grab some extra medicine and supplies. He’d need to have a word with Elora as well; Arlo knew she could defend herself just fine, but no one knew what awaited them inside the ruin, and he’d rather be cautious than risk her getting hurt.

As he approached the mayor’s house later that day, intending to take the ramp behind it, Gale came out of his front door.

“Arlo!” he called cheerfully. “I’m glad I caught you! I nearly forgot to give you something.”

He walked to meet Gale by the gate. “What’s up, boss?”

Gale took a folded piece of paper from his coat and held it out. “You received a telegram this afternoon, I believe it’s from your aunt. I meant to give it to you right away, but it slipped my mind. Apologies!”

Arlo felt the moment his heart skipped a beat, all the warmth in his body draining out of him in an instant. He stared at the telegram in Gale’s hand for several seconds before reaching out to take it, willing his fingers not to shake.

Gale must have sensed his unease. “...Is everything alright, Arlo?”

Arlo swallowed hard, and opened the folded paper. The message was long, taking up the entire small sheet, and at the bottom, a name stared back at him that made his blood freeze in his veins.

_ Judith. _

“Yes,” Arlo said numbly, folding the paper and plastering on a smile. “I just haven’t heard from my aunt in quite a while, I hope everything’s okay.”

Gale raised an eyebrow, searching Arlo’s face. “Well… alright then,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ll leave you to it.” He turned to leave, and halfway to his door, Gale looked back, his expression tense. “I hope everything is okay too, Arlo.”

Nodding, Arlo watched the mayor return to his home. He stood rooted to the spot for several minutes as snow began to fall around him. Then, in an instant, he sprang to life, walking briskly up the ramp and into the Civil Corps and straight to his room, where he locked the door.

Arlo unfolded the telegram and put it on the table, leaning over it with his hands on either side of it. The typing was crude and messy, likely from an old, dirty typewriter. He took a deep breath, and read.

_ Arlo, _

_ How are you, dear? It’s dreadful hot here. My lettuce is all gone! The chickens got loose, I had to get the fox to catch them. How is your father? My husband was buried at sea last month. Please write. I’ll send some pie. _

_ Love you,  
_ _ Aunt Judith _

He read the message again, and again, and then a third time. If this was code, then it was _ very _ well disguised. If he hadn’t been on the lookout for a message, Arlo would have assumed it was from some crazy old woman who thought he was her nephew.

Standing up straight, Arlo scrubbed his hands over his face, his stomach going hollow with dread. A glance at the door to confirm it was locked, then he went for the flask in his cabinet, taking a long drink of its contents. Arlo winced as the bourbon seared his throat, panting as the burn went all the way to his belly.

Part of him hoped he was just having a nightmare as he went for the bottom drawer of his dresser, pulling the old, faded sweater from where it was crumpled in the back. Unwrapping it, Arlo stared at the little booklet, bound in scuffed, well-worn black leather. As he took it in his hands, he saw Mali’s red eyes as she’d handed it to him, her gaze as hard as steel.

He stopped to light a fire in his little stove in hopes that it would chase away some of the chill in his bones, then sat at his table with a pencil and several pieces of scrap paper.

Deciphering the message took _ hours. _

More than once he had to get out of his chair and pace the room just to clear his head. Mali had asked him not to look inside the cipher unless he had to, but even if he had, none of it would have made a lick of sense. The code was almost impossibly dense, each sentence having its own meaning that depended on the order of words within the sentence, which also depended on the spelling of each word. For the first hour, all Arlo did was fill the front and back of a sheet of paper with seemingly random things - strange words, numbers, symbols. The line about lettuce had him checking the second letter of every three words to form an entirely new code with its own solution. His head was pounding as he sharpened his pencil for the fifth time.

By the time he’d hit his third piece of scrap paper, a message was taking form. Once he’d reached a point where nothing else could be decoded, Arlo wrote out a clear translation on a new sheet, then sat back in his chair and took another long drink from his flask.

_ plane shot down spy on council sky sharks ursula is everglade protect all source _

Arlo had to put his head down on his folded hands for a moment and breathe. The Sky Sharks. Legendary pirates from the Duvos empire, led by Everglade, a woman whose name was well known to anyone who’d gone through basic Corps training. And she was here, in his city, intent on finding and stealing something that could destroy them all. It was a nightmare. It had to be.

But it wasn’t, and the ticking of the clock on the windowsill told him that tomorrow was coming. They were going for the All Source first thing in the morning. There was no time to prepare. Standing quickly enough to make his head rush, Arlo took the cipher and wrapped it up in the sweater, shoving it back into its hiding place. Then he took the pages covered in decoding notes and tossed them into the stove, watching them quickly ignite and turn to ash. Arlo folded up the original telegram and his translation, tucked them into the interior breast pocket of his jacket, right over his pounding heart, and left to find Remington and Sam.

His fellow Corps members were able to see through Arlo’s false smile right away as he approached, following him back to his room without question, the lock clicking shut.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, her voice low. Arlo sat at his table and slumped.

“I received a telegram from Mali.”

There was a long pause. “And?” Remington asked.

Rubbing at his forehead, Arlo felt vaguely sick as he took the telegram and translation from his jacket and unfolded them on the table. Sam and Remington leaned in to examine them. “Ursula is not from the Council Guard,” Arlo said quietly. “She’s Everglade of the Sky Sharks.”

The silence that followed was so sharp it rang, none of them speaking as the documents were read, the crackle of the dying fire in the stove the only sound. Out of the corner of his eye, Arlo saw Sam cover her mouth with her hand.

“I knew something was off,” Remington said softly.

“They’ve been thorough,” Arlo lamented, reaching for his flask that he’d left on the table and taking a sip. “Someone working on the inside. Our telegrams have been intercepted.”

“Everglade?” Sam’s voice was thick with disbelief.

“There are no records of her face,” Arlo sighed. “No one can confirm what she looks like. It made it easy to fool us.”

Remington nodded. “What are we gonna do about tomorrow? Think we can stall them?”

Arlo shook his head, which was steadily beginning to throb. “If we try, they’ll likely just go on without us. We’re better off attempting to stop them by force.”

Sam gave a frustrated grunt. _ “Can _ we? They’re more powerful than us, and there’s no way we can get reinforcements before tomorrow morning.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Arlo said, feeling exhaustion creeping in as he stood from his chair. “We can’t just do nothing. We took a vow to protect Portia. _ No matter what.” _

Another long silence as Sam and Remi nodded solemnly. The details of that vow didn’t need to be said aloud - each of them knew that it could very well mean their lives. Remington reached for the flask and took a swig before passing it to Sam, who also drank.

“We need a plan,” Remington said, his voice rough.

“Indeed. Any suggestions?”

Sam shuffled in place. “What about Higgins and Elora?”

Arlo’s heart sank. Elora. She was on the mission too. And with the revelation of Ursula’s identity, their straightforward operation had turned into a potential death trap.

“I’ll go talk to her,” Arlo said. “Remington, have a chat with Higgins. Sam… tell the Mayor. Don’t give either of them too much information. Meet back here once you’re done.”

There were no protests as Arlo put the documents back in his jacket and left. The sky outside was dark as the snow continued to fall, Arlo choosing to walk instead of saddling Spacer. He took as many shortcuts as he could, sliding down the ramp and cutting across Peach Plaza. He felt numb in a way that had nothing to do with the weather, his skin flipping between hot and cold. Dread had disconnected him from himself, Arlo feeling like he wasn’t entirely in his own body as he found himself at Elora’s door.

The sound of his hand knocking was muffled as though his ears were clogged.

After a few long moments, the lock on the door clacked, and Arlo’s vision flooded with light from the inside. He squinted against it.

“Arlo?”

Blinking, he looked down to find Elora, one hand on the door and the other on the frame, staring up at him with a bewildered expression. Arlo felt his throat turn painfully dry.

“Is something wrong?” Elora asked. But he was frozen, suddenly unable to move as the weight of the mission crushed him from all sides. After looking around him in confusion, Elora grabbed his arm and pulled him into her house, shutting the door.

A fire crackled in her stone fireplace, filling the room with warmth and light. On the couch, a throw blanket looked to have been tossed against the cushions, an open book sitting on top. A mug and a plate of half eaten cookies took up the coffee table, under which Scraps was snoozing happily. Her home was cozy, filled with potted plants and trinkets, the walls lined with paintings and photos - next to a window, one of the portraits was clearly of them two of them, Arlo’s arm looped around her shoulder as they grinned at the camera, the banners of the autumn Land Race behind them.

“Arlo,” Elora tried. His eyes snapped to her, taking in her fuzzy pajama pants, baggy sweater, and knit shawl - the same she’d worn at the solstice the year before. Her hair was down, and he blinked, wondering if he’d ever seen it down, combed out and hanging smooth around her face and shoulders.

A hand curled around his bicep. “Arlo, you’re scaring me.”

He stared down at her. Elora, sweet and friendly, hardworking and kind, who’d built a vivid and full life out of next to nothing. She didn’t deserve what could happen to all of them at the hands of Everglade and her men.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Arlo hardened his gaze. “You’re not coming tomorrow.”

Her eyebrows drew together as she frowned. “What?”

The words had come out before Arlo had fully processed them, but as he turned them over in his head, it felt like the most obvious solution: keep her out of danger entirely. “You’re not coming. Stay home. This mission is too risky.”

Elora’s frown deepened. _ “Why?” _ she asked, sounding offended. “I’ve been a part of this from the beginning. I can take care of myself. And what if you need a builder in there?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped as he grit his teeth. “You are _ not _ coming. That’s final.”

Her fingers left his arm as she took a step back, squaring her shoulders and putting her hands on her hips. “Oh hell no,” she raised her voice. “What is going on? Why are you suddenly shutting me out?”

Arlo told himself to remain firm, crossing his arms over his chest. “This mission is dangerous. Too dangerous for a civilian. We’ll make do without you.”

Elora glared at him. “No. Not happening.”

“That’s an order,” Arlo tried.

“You’re not my boss,” she countered. “What _ gives, _ Arlo?”

He gripped at his jacket, fingernails digging into the fabric as the lump in his throat thickened. “It’s too risky. We don’t know what’s going to happen. You could-” his voice cracked painfully, emotions welling up in him faster than he could contain.

Arlo watched the anger in Elora’s eyes vanish, replaced with worry as her shoulders dropped. She searched his face. “Arlo,” she breathed, taking a step towards him. “What’s going on? What happened?”

The concern in her voice broke him. Looking back at the door, Arlo extended an arm to guide them both away from it and closer to the center of the room, where the heat from the fire warmed his legs. It took a long moment to find his voice, and when he did, it was barely a whisper.

“We’ve been deceived,” he said. “Ursula is not from the Council Guard. She’s with the Sky Sharks.”

Elora’s eyes went impossibly wide, her gaze dropping from his face to the front of his jacket, where she stared silently for several seconds. “Oh my god,” she breathed. _ “Pirates?” _

“Yes.” Arlo felt like he might be trembling. “I got a message from Mali.”

Her eyes began darting around the room. “Oh god,” she muttered. “That’s--” Then, with a gasp, Elora’s eyes met his. “We can’t let them get the All Source! They could start a _ war!” _

The gravity of it slammed into Arlo and he sagged in place. “You’re right,” he agreed. “But that’s why you’re not coming.”

Her frown returned. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Arlo huffed. “This could end very badly. You could get hurt. You could…” but he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say that she could die, the words too painful. Elora’s hand went to his shoulder, squeezing.

“You could get hurt, too,” she said gently. “We’re stronger if we stick together, and you know it.” When he shook his head, the fingers on his shoulder tightened. “You watch my back, I’ll watch yours. Just like always.”

He didn’t know what else he could say, part of him wanting to lock her in her house to keep her safe, another part grateful beyond words to know that he had her support. As he gathered her up in her arms, Elora letting out a surprised squeak, Arlo realized that he was _ scared. _ So very, very scared - of letting Portia down, of dying, of Elora getting hurt, of potentially losing _ everything. _

He bowed his neck and buried his face into the top of her head. She was taller than she’d been when they’d met, a tiny thing that he would have had to bend down to hug. But now she fit against him, almost perfectly, their bodies slotting together as though they were molded to compliment each other, Elora’s arms snaking around to his back to clutch at his shoulder blades. They stood unmoving in their embrace for a long while, the fire next to them popping.

Arlo breathed deep, inhaling the scent of her hair. “Promise me you won’t do anything reckless,” he whispered against her scalp.

“Only if you promise the same,” she replied, her hot breath fanning out over his neck.

He sighed, uncurling one arm from around her back to stroke her hair. It had gotten so long over the years. Arlo pulled back just enough to shift, pressing the bridge of his nose to her forehead. There was so much he wanted to say. So much he _ coudn’t _ say, the words bunching up into a knot that refused to come out. They could both die tomorrow. It was all too much.

Pulling away, Arlo brushed a few stray hairs from her face with his fingertips, allowing them to linger on her warm cheek for the tiniest moment. Then he stepped back, Elora’s arms sliding from his back, their hands catching and squeezing briefly.

They said nothing else as Arlo went for the door, pausing and looking back once before stepping out into the freezing air. The sight of Elora standing in her pajamas by the fire haunted him all the way back to the Civil Corps, where Remington and Sam were waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love cliffhangers yes I do I love cliffhangers HOW 'BOUT YOU


	14. Winter 3 part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for ACTION! This chapter was tough to write. Thank you so much for you feedback and comments!!
> 
> SUPER MAJOR spoilers here. Content warning for blood and violence.
> 
> UPDATE: the final chapter count has been changed to 16! I realized the last part made more sense if I split it up.

At a quarter to seven, as the first specks of sunlight began peeking through the highest window in his room, Arlo awoke. His sleep had been predictably troubled, but despite his lack of rest, he rose from his bed wide awake. After a quick shower he dressed, pulling a set of seldom worn leather armor from the back of his closet, strapping the chest plate and gauntlets over his undershirt and slipping his lined winter jacket on to hide them.

He stopped to stare at his Flying Pigs banana in his hands, the sky blue slightly faded from months of constant wear. His long standing dream. With a deep breath, Arlo tied it around his neck.

Remington was standing by the commission board when Arlo came out of his room, passing a granola bar his way. Sam came in as they nibbled their meager breakfast in silence, her bulky coat likely hiding her own set of armor.

“You guys ready for this?” She asked, adjusting the strap of her bag.

Arlo nodded. “As we’ll ever be. Remi, go get Higgins. I’ll fetch Elora.”

Portia was quiet and calm as Arlo walked through the streets, the town just beginning to wake up. Stopping in Peach Plaza, he scanned the area, trying to memorize how it looked in the gentle light of morning. It might be the last time he saw it.

Elora was exiting her yard as he approached the Dee Dee stop just outside the gate, wearing a heavy military coat trimmed with fur, her hair pulled back in a neat bun. The Nova Sword on her back reflected the light, freshly sharpened.

A pang of regret stabbed at Arlo’s heart. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to sit this one out after all,” he asked her quietly.

She only shook her head, adjusting one of her gloves. “Not a chance.”

They said nothing else as the Dee Dee arrived, loading themselves into the car and setting off towards the Tree Farm. Disembarking, Arlo noted several sets of footprints in the snow, leading away from the stop and towards the ruin.

“Got a plan?” Elora asked quietly once the Dee Dee was well out of earshot.

Arlo’s breath fogged in front of him. “We arrest them, simple as that. I’d say I’m hoping it doesn’t come down to blows, but I’m fairly sure that’s just wishful thinking.”

She nodded as they began walking. “Well, with me along, it’s four against three. Five if you count Higgins, and that man has a nasty left jab.”

He huffed a laugh, though it was hard to feel anything other than anxiety and dread, his gut churning. Before they reached the crest of the hill, Arlo snagged Elora’s hand in his, squeezing it once. Her fingers squeezed back before they parted, Ursula and her team coming into view a moment later.

“Good, you’re finally here,” Ursula commented, and Arlo felt his blood pressure rise at the sound of her voice. He should have known. _ He should have known. _

“Is everyone prepared? There’s no telling what’s inside that ruin, or what will happen when we reach the All Source. Be on your guard.”

A quick side glance at Remington and Sam told Arlo that they were ready. He took a steadying breath. “Captain,” he began, carefully shifting his balance into a more defensive stance. “I was wondering about something. You never did tell me if you knew my friend Stanza.”

Ursula gave him a deadpan stare, one of her eyebrows arching high. “Is this really necessary?”

“Stanza,” he repeated, putting extra emphasis into the name. “Lanky fellow, black hair, do you know him?”

Her expression was of pure annoyance. “Yes, yes, I know him, lovely chap. Can we move on?”

One of Arlo’s hands went to the hilt of the combat knife attached to his belt. “Well now, that is odd. Because I don’t have a friend named Stanza.”

Ursula’s eyes sharpened, the air between them becoming charged.

“But you wouldn’t know that, would you?” Arlo said. “Everglade of the Sky Sharks.”

At the edge of his vision, Arlo saw Sam and Remington raise their fists, Elora reaching for the hilt of her sword. A biting wind blew past them, rustling Everglade’s pristine hair and cape.

“Well,” she said lowly, her voice cold and unfeeling. “I suppose there’s no point in pretending anymore, is there?”

Beside her, Ryder cracked his knuckles. “And just when I thought this mission was gonna be boring.”

“You’re all under arrest,” Arlo boomed, taking a step forward. Everglade laughed softly, twirling her cane.

“Do you really think you can take us by force?”

A muscle in his eye twitched. “I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

A beat of silence reigned over them all, the wind and groaning trees the only sound.

Then Everglade lunged, Arlo darting forward to meet her, and the battle began. Sam and Remington kept Ten and Ryder at bay as Arlo set his sights on the pirate captain, blocking her cane with his forearms and thanking his past self for putting on armor - though he was still going to be black and blue later from the blows. He kept his knife in its holster, not wanting to take it out unless he absolutely had to. Everglade may have been a criminal, but Arlo had a personal policy concerning violence, and would rather subdue her without using a weapon.

From the way Everglade slapped her metal cane into the ridge of his cheekbone, she didn’t share the sentiment.

Clangs of metal against metal filled the air. Arlo thought he saw Remington overtake Ryder nearby, but he was focused on Everglade. She was stronger, to be sure, but his height was giving him an advantage against the much smaller woman. Arlo feinted a right hook, and while she raised her cane to counter, he dropped his weight to the ground and swept a leg under her feet. Everglade yelped and tumbled face down to the ground, Arlo pouncing on her right away, yanking her cane arm behind her back and planting one of his knees between her shoulder blades.

Turning her head, Everglade snarled at him, shoving her free arm beneath her body to try and buck him off. Arlo twisted the arm he held and pressed his other palm into the back of her neck to hold her down. “Don’t,” he warned, giving her arm a slight tug. He could easily break her shoulder from this angle. “You’re _ done, _ pirate.”

Behind him, a gasp and a short shriek, then silence. Remington, who held down Ryder a few feet away, was staring over Arlo’s shoulder with wide eyes.

“Arlo,” he breathed.

Turning as much as he could while keeping his grip on Everglade, Arlo looked behind him, and utterly froze. Several feet away stood the Rogue Knight, holding Elora in front of him with her arms wrenched behind her back, the long red blade of his sword under her chin.

“Now, now,” the Knight said. “I would advise you stand down, Captain.”

He couldn’t move. All Arlo could do was stare at Elora’s eyes, wide and fearful, her head angled back as she struggled to stay clear of the blade. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with shallow, panicked breaths.

The Knight clicked his tongue, inching the blade upwards, Elora gasping and stretching up in response. “I won’t ask again. _ Stand. Down.” _

As he released Everglade’s arm and stood, adrenaline surged in Arlo’s veins. The Knight didn’t move, still holding Elora, his sword so very, very close to the soft flesh of the underside of her jaw. Around him, Sam and Remington backed away from where they had Ten and Ryder subdued.

“Taking hostages?” Arlo grit, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. “You’re despicable.”

Everglade rose, dusting the snow from her clothes and making a show of smoothing back her hair. “Dear boy,” she said in a sing-song voice, reaching for her hat. “What did you expect?”

The handle of her cane was shoved under his ribs so quickly and with so much force that he had no time to react, doubling over with a pained wheeze. Then, with his head bowed, that same cane slammed into his face, pain exploding in his lower lip as he was knocked back, falling face down. Stars danced in his vision as fingers fisted in his hair, pulling, dragging his head up to see Everglade, leaning close.

“We’re _ pirates,” _ she finished with a grin, punctuating her sentence by slamming his face into the snow. “Tie them up,” Arlo heard from above him.

Another hand, which turned out to be Ryder’s, yanked Arlo up by the collar of his jacket. The Rogue Knight still held Elora, and though he’d lowered his sword a hair, it was still too close to her for Arlo to risk resisting. His arms were pulled behind his back, his wrists wound tight with rope. Ryder kicked the back of his knee and Arlo fell, catching himself just enough to land on his rear instead of his face. Glancing down, he saw a spatter of red on his bandanna, the left side of his lower lip throbbing and stinging.

Sam, Remington, and Higgins were trussed up much the same, forced to sit in the snow as their arms were bound. Then the Knight took away his sword and shoved Elora at Ryder, who wasted no time tying her up, nearly throwing her against Arlo’s back.

Everglade paced around them, leaving Arlo’s view. “You should have kept your heads down,” she commented. “This all could have gone much easier for you.”

He felt Elora tense up behind him. “Can’t win without cheating, huh?” She snarled.

A sharp _ clap _cut through the air, Elora giving a short cry as her body jerked. Arlo grit his teeth, rage flaring through him.

“Don’t you touch her!” He shouted, spitting blood from his lip. Everglade only laughed.

“Keep an eye on them,” The pirate told Ten. “If they try anything, kill them.”

The Rogue Knight, along with Everglade and Ryder, turned to head into the ruin. Ten and Remington were talking to each other, but Arlo wasn’t listening. Anger ran hot through his body, the need to do something, anything to stop them nearly overwhelming him. But it wasn’t just his life on the line if he attempted an escape, so he forced himself to take a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth, before turning his head to the side.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

He felt Elora nod against the back of his neck. “Fine,” she grunted. “She hits like my grandmother.”

There was pain in her voice despite her claims, and it made Arlo’s heart hurt. Twisting his wrists as much as he could beneath the rope around them, he cupped his hands around hers where they were tied behind her back.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I’d never gotten you involved.”

Her hands shifted, fingers fanning out to weave between his own and squeeze. “A little late for that,” she whispered.

Arlo hung his head as snow began to fall around them. They would need a miracle at this point.

“Hey,” Ten’s voice came from behind him. “Don’t move. Who are you?”

Elora's fingers tapped against his rapidly. Perking up, Arlo tried to twist enough to see what was happening, but only Ten was within his field of vision without completely turning his body.

Shuffling footsteps were coming from somewhere outside his field of vision. “I’m Agent T of the, uh, Portia Debt Collection Agency,” said a shaking voice. “You, uh… you owe us money for trespassing in the marsh!”

He knew that voice, he’d know it anywhere. Arlo tried to turn further so he could see, but Elora’s hands gripped at his in warning, her spine going rigid. Ten’s verbal warning was cut off with a dull clang, followed by a thump.

“Huss, Tuss!” Remington yelled. The elder of the brothers came around where Arlo could see, kneeling down to saw through the rope at Arlo’s wrists with a knife.

“We saw everything!” Tuss explained, his voice unsteady as Arlo’s binds finally came loose. Once his hands were free, he turned around and took out his own knife to slice through the rope around Elora’s wrists. She slumped forward, rubbing at her hands. Behind him, Huss was freeing Sam, Higgins, and Remi, but Arlo was more concerned with Elora, kneeling before her to check her for injuries. He gently took her chin in his hands to angle her face upwards and sighed in relief; her left cheek was a deep red from Everglade’s palm, but she looked otherwise unharmed.

After helping her to her feet, Arlo found Ten, out cold as Huss tied his wrists behind his back. He glanced up at the entrance to the ruin.

“We can’t let them get the AI,” Arlo told the group. “Huss, Tuss, keep an eye on the pirate. Higgins, go tell the mayor and get help. This might get ugly.”

“Right,” Higgins nodded, turning to leave. He looked back once, raising a finger at Elora. “You. Be careful.”

Her eyebrows went up, but then Elora nodded. “You too.”

The inside of the ruin was eerily quiet as they entered. The pirates had locked the doors behind them, but Elora found another way through what looked to be a wide ventilation shaft. They climbed through it, helping each other up, until it dumped them out into a hallway swarmed with AI machines that came straight for them.

Fighting their way down several levels, they eventually came to a divide in the path. Arlo knelt down to examine two sets of wet footprints, and though they were nearly dry by that point, he could see them going in opposite directions. The smaller of the two went off to the right.

“Okay,” Arlo straightened up. “We split up. Sam, Remi, take the left path. Be careful. Elora, you’re with me.”

His fellow Civil Corps members nodded, then set off down the left path at a brisk pace, Arlo taking off down the right path with her close behind. They wound through dimly lit corridors, down two levels, until a doorway at the end of their path opened up into a bright room. Inside, clearly visible thanks to her red cape, was Everglade. Arlo’s teeth ground together.

“Everglade!” he yelled, crossing the threshold into the wide open chamber, a center platform suspended above a several story drop. The pirate turned to see him, a wicked grin across her face.

“Mister Arlo,” she greeted as he slid to a stop several feet away. “It really is a shame things had to turn out like this.”

“It is,” he replied, seething with anger. Elora came to stand beside him, her sword drawn.

“I must say, the two of you are adorable together.” Everglade twirled her cane. “But I’m afraid this is where it ends.”

When the pirate rushed forward, Arlo met her halfway, more prepared for her strength this time. The battle was slower, reaction time dulled on both sides from their previous fight, Arlo able to block Everglade’s cane before it came into contact with his face. Exertion showed in her sweat drenched face, and as she dove to avoid Elora’s sword, Arlo delivered a powerful kick to Everglade’s ribs that sent her sprawling across the platform.

Rising to her feet, she panted for air, her white hair falling out of its trappings around her face. Her metal cane had fallen close to Arlo’s feet, where he stepped on it.

“You’re finished,” he told her. “Give it up!”

Huffing a breathless laugh, Everglade began stepping backwards. “I don’t think so.”

It happened faster than Arlo could react. Everglade spread her arms and tipped backwards, her body tumbling from the platform. Elora gave a startled cry from beside him, one of her arms shooting out as she lurched forward, but they were too far away. Arlo’s body went cold with horror as he rushed to the edge.

Looking down, he saw Everglade twist in mid air, a glider springing from her back to carry her safely to the ground. She landed with a grunt, shrugging off the glider and turning to grin up at Arlo, giving him a wave before turning and running for a door on the opposite side of the room.

“She’s getting away,” he breathed. Arlo’s eyes darted around, looking for a path to the lower level. “We have to stop her!”

Elora’s hand was around his arm. “Arlo, wait! The All Source, what if the other two found it?”

His brain ground to a halt. He’d been so focused on Everglade that he’d nearly forgotten their other problems, namely Ryder and the Rogue Knight. Arlo shook his head to clear it.

“You’re right,” he nodded. “Let’s go.”

It pained him to let Everglade escape, but the All Source was far more important that one pirate. With Elora close behind, Arlo fought his way forward, AI machines springing to life and attacking them at every turn. His muscles were beginning to ache from overuse, his lungs burning, but he pushed on. It was only when he turned a corner and tripped over his own feet did Arlo finally stop, catching himself on the wall to his left.

“We need to take a break,” Elora wheezed.

“Can’t,” Arlo panted as he tried to push himself off the wall. His arms shook and refused to obey.

“Arlo,” Elora was at his side, pushing his other shoulder to the cold metal of the wall. The feeling of her hot hands against him sapped Arlo of his will to fight, and he slumped, sliding down until he hit the floor. He was so tired.

For a few moments, he closed his eyes, still out of breath. He could pass out right here, the adrenaline of two back to back fights finally wearing off and leaving him a withered husk.

“Hey.” Something poked his arm. “Drink this, it’ll help.”

Glancing down, he found Elora extending a vial of blue liquid at him, another in her other hand. Arlo took it and tipped it back without hesitation, then coughed as the potent sourness of the concoction took him by surprise. Elora drank her vial and shuddered, her face scrunching up.

“Ugh,” she clicked her tongue. “I need to talk to Phyllis about making this stuff a little easier to swallow.”

Whatever the medicine was, Arlo could feel it sliding down his throat and into his belly, where a soothing warmth began to radiate. The pounding in his head began to lessen, the soreness in his limbs ebbing. His strength was returning as he cracked his neck.

“Thanks,” he breathed. He thought he saw Elora nodding before closing his eyes again to reorient himself.

“Oh jeeze.” Gloved fingers touched his cheek. “Your lip.”

Arlo blinked his eyes open to find her rifling through the bag on her belt, pulling out a few things. He reached up to touch his lip and pulled his hand back with a hiss. “Bad?” he asked. Without a mirror, it was hard to assess the damage. Elora nodded as she rose up on her knees, taking off her gloves and pulling a wet cloth from a small folded pouch.

“Yeah,” she grimaced. “Let me clean it up.”

He held still as she dabbed at his lip and wiped the blood from his chin and beard, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she held his jaw with her free hand. The left side of her face was still red, a dark bruise forming on the soft swell of her cheek.

Elora tossed the now bloody cloth aside and reached for a tin, opening it and scooping some of its contents onto her finger. She paused. “This is probably going to sting.”

He nodded in permission, and Elora carefully smeared some of the salve over the split on his mouth. Arlo grunted - it _ did _ sting, burning in the open wound enough to make his eyes snap shut in an automatic response. Above him, Elora muttered an apology.

Arlo steeled himself against the pain. Hot palms returned to his face, cupping his cheeks, a calloused thumb gently skating over the cheekbone that Everglade struck with her cane. “That’s going to be a black eye later,” Elora whispered.

Looking up, he found her staring down at him, her eyes darkening as they flicked between his. Arlo became keenly aware of the hands cradling his head, her fingertips resting against his neck. She was so close, close enough to map the nearly invisible freckles that dotted her nose and count her long eyelashes. Arlo curled his fingers around her slender wrists, feeling the strong beat of her pulse under her skin. So close. Elora’s face dipped towards his, her cheeks going pink, and he held his breath. All he had to do to meet her was lean up.

Then she blinked, sucking in a short breath and pulling away, taking the warmth of her hands with her. Arlo mentally staggered as Elora put her gloves back on.

“We should hurry,” she said, her voice unsteady as she gathered the items from her pouch and stood.

It took Arlo several seconds for his brain to catch up. “Right.” He put his legs under himself and stood, shaking his head to clear it.

Continuing, they fought their way down at least four more levels, leaving a trail of broken AIs in their wake. They must have been _ miles _ underground by this point, the thought slightly unnerving to Arlo as he kicked a dying machine away. The air became thick and heavy, crackling with electricity as a wide open entryway came into view around a corner. Just ahead, Sam and Remi came barreling out of a door, looking like they’d had their fair share of resistance as well.

“There!” Sam yelled, pointing inside the door. “I see the Knight!”

Arlo followed her finger and saw the Knight. Another surge of adrenaline flooded his body as he charged forward. As he crossed the threshold into the room, however, he slid to a halt. The crackling sensation became drastically stronger, the air charged enough to make all of his hair stand on end. This room, unlike the cramped, dirty, and corroded corridors behind them, was wide and pristine. It was entirely possible that no one had entered since before the Great War, even the guardian AIs stationed inside in much better condition than the ones they’d encountered thus far.

The Knight turned to face them, chuckling. “Ah, there you are. You certainly took your time.” Stepping aside, he flourished his arm at the giant machine behind him. “Behold, the All Source. Magnificent, isn’t it?”

“Lovely,” Arlo snarled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s over, Knight. Your pirates are done, and you’re next!”

The laugh that the Knight let out was nothing short of chilling. From the corners of the room, giant machines with canons for faces began lumbering towards them. “I think not,” the Knight sneered. “I’m in control now. Allow me to demonstrate the power of this AI!”

It took all of a second to weigh his odds before Arlo was kicking off from the floor and breaking into a sprint. “Stop him!” he yelled, Remington and Sam right behind him. They _ had _to stop him. There was no telling what this madman might do with something this powerful.

To his left, an AI guardian blinked out of existence in a flash of blue light. Then another, and another, until columns of blue were all around them. Arlo had no time to react before the light surrounded him. His body jerked, as though pulled by a string, and the world dissolved around him. He spun and twisted, sound roaring in his ears loud enough to make bile rise in his throat. It felt as though he was being stretched in all directions while falling, falling--

His feet hit solid ground and Arlo stumbled, wavering and dropping to one knee. He clapped a hand over his mouth as his stomach rolled, his skin flashing cold as he struggled not to vomit. He could hear the sounds of Sam, Remington, and Elora around him, a strange whooshing sound following them.

“What the hell was that?” Sam gasped.

Remington gagged. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

As Arlo finally felt like he could open his eyes without losing the contents of his stomach, Elora stepped beside him. “We’re outside?” she wondered. “How did we get here?”

Glancing around, he finally recognized their surroundings. They were in the Tree Farm, snow falling heavy and thick around them. Arlo looked behind them - there were no footprints, the powder untouched in every direction. It was as if they’d been picked up and dropped there.

A metallic screech rang out. Arlo whipped his head around as another followed.

“That came from town,” Sam gasped.

She was right, Arlo realized with horror, as distant screams joined the sounds of machinery.

“We have to get there _ now,” _ Arlo said, pointing towards the line of logs that formed the eastern edge of the Tree Farm. “Jump the fence!”

The four of them took off as one, running as fast as they could through the piles of snow. As they reached the tall fence, Arlo dropped to one knee and laced his fingers together to form a sling. “El!” he called to her. She seemed to understand immediately, dropping one of her boots into his hands and letting Arlo lift her up and over the fence in one swing. Remington did the same for Sam, then let Arlo boost him up enough to climb over. With everyone on the other side, Arlo took three long steps back from the fence, then rushed at it to jump as high as he could, barely managing to grab the top ledge with his fingertips and hoist himself up.

His feet hit the snow on the other side. The tops of the buildings that surrounded Peach Plaza were in view over the trees, the sounds of chaos growing louder.

Arlo didn’t have to tell his companions to move, all of them rushing towards the town without prompting.

What they found in town was a sight that Arlo could never forget; Peach Plaza, overrun with AIs, the machines attacking buildings, residents screaming as they fled for their lives. A canon blast from one machine blew a wide hole into the upper level of the Commerce Guild, while another kicked at the support beams below the Happy Apartments balcony, the structure groaning and collapsing. Peach Fountain had been struck, water gushing from the damage and flowing out into the street. The ground shook as the giant machines stomped around the plaza, destroying the cobblestone street as the sounds of destruction and canon fire rang out into the freezing air.

For the tiniest moment, Arlo was overwhelmed with a feeling of helplessness as he watched his home be razed.

He shoved it aside and surged forward.

These AI looked to be the ones that were in the All Source room, likely brought here by whatever means they had been - and they were tougher than the ones they’d fought before. These machines showed no sign of decay, their hulls solid and impenetrable. Arlo had to use his combat knife to take them down, shoving the blade into the joints of the steel armor. His fellow Corps members fought just as hard, Sam’s nose beginning to bleed as she punched the legs out from under a smaller AI. Even as the last of the machines fell, Arlo knew they were all exhausted, beaten and bloody. They wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer, and their odds of surviving this day were beginning to dwindle.

“Arlo!”

Pulling himself away from the wreckage of an AI, Arlo turned to see Toby running towards him. “Central Plaza! There’s a man in a mask on a giant computer thing! He’s wrecking up stuff!”

“The All Source,” Elora wheezed, out of breath. Arlo stepped forward to pat Toby on the shoulder.

“Good work, Toby,” he said. “Now go hide somewhere, we’ll take care of this.”

The little boy stretched up to his full height and took out his wooden practice sword. “I can help!”

Blinking, Arlo stared down at him, overcome with a profound sadness. Little Toby, so full of fire, sharp and brave and as innocent as he could be. He would have liked to keep training him, watch him grow up. Arlo knelt and squeezed Toby’s shoulder.

“No, Toby,” he said gently. “This isn’t your fight. Remember what I said about discretion?”

The boy opened and closed his mouth several times, then stared at the ground. “That it’s the better part of valor.”

“Right.” Arlo gave Toby one last pat and stood. “Find your mother and get to safety. We’ll take care of the masked man.”

Toby’s wide amber eyes were filled with disappointment, but he nodded, then turned and walked towards the Western Gate where several other citizens were gathering. Arlo watched him go, then looked over his companions. Sam with her bloody nose and torn jacket, Remington with scratches on his face and dirt on his clothes, Elora with her bruised cheek and bloodshot eyes. None of them were in any shape to face what was coming, but what choice did they have?

“Let’s go,” Arlo said, swallowing hard.

Main Street was just as littered with destruction as Peach Plaza had been. Alice’s flower stand was smashed to splinters, flowers and clay pots crushed against pavement. The front of Martha’s bakery looked to have been torn out entirely, a mess of pastries and flour coating the street. As they approached Central Plaza, the All Source came into view, the Rogue Knight standing atop it.

Arlo quickened his pace. “We can’t let him get away!”

The Knight turned and flourished as they came closer. “What do you think?” he chuckled. “So much potential in one AI.”

“Too bad you’re not leaving with it,” Arlo snarled, raising his fists. “This ends now!”

Distorted laughter echoed across the plaza. “It seems you need another demonstration.” With a wave of the Knight’s hand, the All Source shook and whirred as columns extended out from its base. The AI and Knight shot into the air, becoming fifty feet tall in the blink of an eye. One of the leg columns rose up and slammed into the ground, causing all of them to leap out of the way. When Arlo looked back, a crater had formed where the All Source had stomped. He gulped. One false move and they would be crushed.

“I bet it’s top heavy,” Elora said lowly. “We can probably tip it over.”

He was so thankful for her Builder’s Intuition in that moment that he almost laughed. “Go for the legs!” Arlo called to Sam and Remington.

It was so much easier said than done.

Fighting a three story tall AI turned out to be mostly dodging and trying not to be flattened by both its feet and fists as it stomped around the plaza, destroying the cobblestone walkways, crushing benches and sending debris flying in all directions. Every inch of Arlo’s body ached, his muscles overworked and abused as he darted from the All Source’s fist just barely fast enough to get away. He couldn’t tell if they were even managing to _ scratch _ the thing.

“Well,” The Knight said, sounding bored. “This has been fun, but I have more important things to attend do. All Source, teleport!”

Arlo held his breath. It was going to disappear again. And if it did, that would be the end.

_ “Insufficient energy levels,” _the AI replied in a tinny, artificial voice.

The Knight seemed just as confused as the rest of them. A shuffle of movement caught Arlo’s eyes, and when he realized what it was, his heart seized. It was Toby, sliding down the All Source’s leg, clutching a large condensed power stone in his hand. He hit the ground and scurried towards the school.

“Brat!” the Knight roared as Toby ducked through the door and slammed it. Enraged, the Knight commanded the All Source to move, and Arlo watched in horror as the giant machine used its arms to pull the school clean off its foundation, and toss it away as though it were garbage. The building slammed into the Eastern Gate and both structures crumbled, brick, stone, and metal raining down all over the plaza. Where the school used to be was now an empty floor and torn walls, broken pipes spurting water as Toby cowered inside with the power stone.

One of the All Source’s arms coiled around the trunk of the Wishing Tree, pulling it up by the roots, and flinging it in Toby’s direction. Time seemed to slow as the shrill sound of splintering wood filled the plaza.

Arlo felt sick. He’d told Toby to get away.

“Ack!” Sam cried. There, between the muddy roots of the broken tree, the yellow AI stood, holding the wood back. And behind him was Toby, unharmed. A new spark of anger flooded Arlo - this Knight would go so far as to harm a child to get what he wanted. Cracking his knuckles, he pointed at the All Source.

“Take it down!” he shouted.

His companions seemed to share in Arlo’s disgust and outrage, attacking the AI with renewed vigor. It countered them, but its movements were sluggish and delayed, likely because it was missing a power source. Saying a silent thank you to Toby - along with a promise to give him a stern lecture later - Arlo put all of his strength into a roundhouse kick to the All Source’s leg. The machine sputtered and beeped, then toppled over, slamming face down onto the street below. The Rogue Knight leaped from the AI and rolled away.

A hush settled over the plaza as the heavy snowfall continued, blanketing the wreckage with a layer of sparkling white. Arlo took a step towards the Knight as a bead of sweat dripped from his face.

“It’s over,” he told the Knight. “Give it up.”

Their adversary didn’t seem fazed, unsheathing his red sword. “You’re going to regret challenging me, boy.”

Arlo pulled his combat knife from his belt. “We’ll see about that.”

He remembered their last fight with the Knight very well, and this time Arlo was more prepared, able to predict his enemies moves far better than the first time. Though he moved erratically, the Knight had a distinct three beat pattern, and Arlo found that he could easily strike and dart away after the third beat without being hit. It was also far easier with his knife, actually able to block the Knight’s blade instead of just dodging, and with four of them attacking him at once, it wasn’t easy for the Knight to counter. They could do this.

Arlo felt his chest begin to lock up as his breathing became painful, warning bells going off in his head. He’d been at it for too long, he knew. Time was running out. He just had to keep going, just a little longer, just a few more hits - 

The Knight’s armored fist slammed into his ribs, sending him flying backwards. As his vision tunneled, Arlo was faintly aware of a sickening _ pop _ as he hit the cobblestone, rolling away. The world tilted sideways as his lungs emptied in a single wheeze, the plaza becoming very far away.

_ “....lo!” _

He was so cold.

_ “....et up…. lo!” _

He just wanted to sleep...

“Arlo! _ Get up!” _

Drawing in a breath so sharp that his throat burned, Arlo’s vision returned, the darkness around the edges fading away. Above him was a figure in a dark green coat with fur trim. _ Elora, _ his brain supplied. She clenched her sword in front of her, arms shaking as she held back a long, red blade.

_ “Arlo!” _ she cried. “Please, get up!”

The world around him snapped into focus. The Knight pulled back his sword and swung. Elora parried with her own blade, but before she could regain her posture, the Knight slashed again, cutting upwards through the air. Elora let out a scream as her body was flung to the side, landing in a heap near the wreckage of the school.

Arlo’s throat closed as he watched her land in slow motion, his eyes turning up to see the Rogue Knight pull his sword back, aiming it right at Arlo’s heart.

He couldn’t look away.

As the Knight thrust, a hand shot out, snatching the red blade from the air and holding it steady. Blinking, Arlo followed the arm to see Django, holding the sharp side of the sword with his bare fist.

“Attacking a defenseless opponent?” Django asked in his signature lazy drawl. “You have no right to call yourself a Knight.”

The Rogue Knight’s sword shook. “Who are you, old man?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Django clicked his tongue. “Asking for a name without giving one, too. Disgraceful.”

The Knight howled in rage, pulling his sword back and swinging for the old brewmaster, who dodged effortlessly. Arlo blinked - had he hit his head?

He glanced towards the school. Elora was still face down, unmoving. Arlo scrambled to stand and run to her, but as he put his right leg under his body, a bolt of white hot pain shot straight up his spine. He gagged in response, crumbling back to the pavement as his mind struggled to operate around the intensity of it. His eyes welled with involuntary tears as he began crawling his way towards the school, dragging his right leg, ignoring the sounds of ongoing battle behind him.

When he reached Elora and turned her over, the tears in his eyes spilled over. Her face was covered in blood, oozing from a long gash that cut across her left cheek, all the way up to the right side of her forehead. There was so much, flowing into her hair, a small puddle of red on the pavement below. Arlo’s throat closed as he pressed his ear to the hollow of her neck, praying.

A steady pulse beat against his cheek.

It was then that he could feel the rise of her chest as she breathed. Arlo clutched her body against him, his breath stuttering painfully, his mind a haze of static.

He didn’t know how long he’d been on the freezing ground with Elora bleeding in his arms when Django came over, snapping him out of his daze. “You need to get her to the clinic,” Django said. “Now.”

Arlo grit his teeth. “I can’t,” he whispered, his voice gone. “My ankle is broken.”

Django stared at him for a moment, then nodded, pulling Elora from Arlo’s arms and hoisting her into his own. He turned and went straight for the stairs that led to the northern part of town, taking them two at a time. Someone shouted for Doctor Xu and Phyllis.

Arlo stared down at his hands and jacket, smeared with Elora’s blood.

  
  


\-----

  
  


It took both Paulie and Mars to help Arlo up to the clinic, unable to put any weight on his right ankle without nearly doubling over in pain. Sam and Remington trudged behind them, Sam clutching at her ribs while Remington held a dislocated shoulder. As soon as they entered the clinic, Arlo spotted Elora’s coat on the floor, the white fur trim stained red. At the furthest bed, half hidden by a curtain, Doctor Xu and Phyllis leaned over, fussing with equipment.

Panic gripped Arlo as he stumbled away from the two men holding him up, falling against Xu’s desk. “Elora,” he rasped. “Is she alright?”

The Doctor turned, looking frazzled. “Phyllis, will you take care of him?”

She nodded, removing her stained gloves and going to Arlo’s side. “Come on, Captain, let’s get you--”

But Arlo shoved at the nurse, desperate to know. “Is she okay? Tell me!”

“Arlo!” Phyllis shoved him back. “She’s going to be fine, I promise.” Then she stepped aside. Through a mess of blankets, bandages and cords, Arlo could see Elora’s face, clean and bandaged up, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

All of his strength, or what little he had left, disappeared from Arlo as he slumped over Phyllis. He barely registered being half dragged to a bed before the world around him went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Star Wars Pod Racing announcer voice: I don't care what universe you're from, that's gotta hurt


	15. Winter 3 part three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the home stretch y'all!! Thank you so much for reading and commenting!
> 
> As usual, this contains so many game spoilers. All of them. All of the spoilers.
> 
> Content warning for this chapter: non-graphic medical stuff (brief mentions of needles, stitches, wounds)

Someone was calling his name.

Arlo tried to turn towards it, every part of him slow and sluggish. Even his eyes barely obeyed his command to open, fluttering uselessly.

“Arlo?” A voice to his left. “Can you hear me?”

He grunted, his eyes finally cracking open. It was so bright. Arlo’s tongue clicked in his dry mouth. “Where am I?” He wasn’t sure if all the words actually came out.

“You’re in the clinic.” It was a woman’s voice, incredibly familiar. Glancing around, he registered the pale green walls and white tile floor of the town hospital, though his head was having trouble processing the information. Why was he here?

A hand, warm and soft, rested against his forehead. “How do you feel?”

“...I…” How did he feel? His brain felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Shifting in place, Arlo tried to take stock of his body, and groaned when the sensations hit him. _ Everything _ hurt. “...’m sore,” he slurred.

“To be expected.” The hand left his forehead, fingers moving to rest against his neck, just under his jaw. “Your fever has broken, which is good.”

He frowned. A fever? Arlo _ never _ got sick, why would he have a fever? Something wasn’t right. Blinking to try to clear his vision, he turned to his side and saw Phyllis, staring at a stopwatch in her hand. Glancing down at his body, all he saw was a white blanket, with his bare left arm stretched out on top. A bandage held a little tube against the inside of his elbow, and he followed it to a clear pouch that hung from a metal stand.

A bit more of his brain came online. “What happened?”

Phyllis’ fingers left his neck. “You were seriously injured,” she stated plainly. “Hold still for me.”

A sharp light shone in Arlo’s eyes suddenly, first one and then the other, and he squinted against it. As it left, he finally noticed that his right eye was only half open and very, very sore. Phyllis was fussing with the tube on his arm, and Arlo grunted as a needle was pulled out of his skin. God, he _ hated _ needles. Bandages were wrapped around his elbow, then the back of his bed lifted up.

“I’ll get you something to drink,” Phyllis said, then walked away, her heels clicking. Somewhere in the room was a steady beeping sound.

It took some effort, but Arlo managed to pull his right arm out from beneath the blanket and carefully poke at the area around his right eye. It was tender to the touch, as was his bottom lip. He let his arm fall back to the bed with a thump - it felt as though he’d pulled every muscle in his body. Phyllis returned, carrying a clay mug in her hands. She curled one hand around the back of Arlo’s neck to help him drink, the warm liquid soothing his ravaged throat and helping his head to clear a bit more.

“You’ve been out for almost twenty-four hours. Do you remember how you got here?” Phyllis asked.

Frowning, Arlo tried to remember, but his brain was a fog of jumbled, half-formed memories. “We… we were going to find the All Source,” he mumbled, vaguely recalling walking through the snow towards the ruins. “It was...”

Arlo’s breath caught in his throat as recollection slammed into him. Everglade. The Knight. Portia being destroyed by out of control AI machines, and then --

“Elora,” he gasped as the image of her bloody face flooded his mind, sending his pulse skyrocketing. Arlo struggled to sit up, a shiver raking through him as the blanket fell away from his bare chest. “Where is she? Is she alright?”

Phyllis put her hands on his shoulders and held him still with little effort. “Easy, Arlo. She’s right behind you.”

Arlo froze, then tried to twist around to see. Over his shoulder, almost out of his range of vision, was another clinic bed. And in it, wrapped up in blankets, was Elora, her bruised face half covered in white bandages. A machine beside the bed beeped in the rhythm of a heart, various tubes and wires disappearing under the sheets that covered her.

“She’s fine,” Phyllis assured, pushing Arlo back down to the mattress. “She got pretty banged up, but nothing serious.”

Arlo closed his eyes, a wave of vertigo sweeping over him as the blankets were pulled back over his body. “There was so much blood,” he muttered. 

Phyllis tucked the blanket around his shoulders. “Facial wounds tend to bleed more than others,” she explained. “Lots of blood vessels there, so it often looks worse than it actually is. The lacerations Elora sustained weren’t terribly deep.”

Arlo forced himself to relax, willing his heart to slow down.

Despite his day-long nap, Arlo found himself blinking in and out of consciousness until Xu returned to the clinic. He prodded at Arlo’s ankle, testing his range of motion, and concluded that it wasn’t broken, but very badly sprained. He’d still need to keep it in a brace and stay off of it - Doctor Xu gave Arlo the coldest glare he’d ever seen as he lectured him about not putting weight on his right foot until it healed. Arlo gulped and nodded, taking the painkillers and crutches he was offered with a hint of reluctance.

Arlo put on his jacket to cover up, his undershirt having been cut off him while he was out cold, and carefully stood from his bed, groaning. He felt so _ weak, _ his stomach snarling as his arms shook. He needed a meal. And a shower. And definitely more rest. Before he left the clinic, Arlo hobbled over to Elora’s side, smoothing down her hair with his palm. The left side of her face was still bruised and covered in thick white bandages, as was the bridge of her nose and the right side of her forehead, the skin under her eyes dark and sunken. She looked so very small in the clinic bed, her breath slow and steady.

Back inside the Civil Corps, Remington greeted him, his right arm in a sling and bags under his eyes. He promised to go get some food as Arlo headed for the bath. It wasn’t easy to peel out of his clothes while minding his injuries, but he managed to get himself scrubbed down, though it took twice as long as usual. Arlo caught his reflection in the mirror as he wiped away the steam with his palm. He looked _ horrible. _His right eye was swollen purple, the ridge of his cheekbone a deep blue thanks to Everglade’s cane. The split on his bottom lip was still bright red and angry, the entire left side of his mouth discolored and puffy. His forearms were dotted with deep bruises, as was his chest and ribs.

Leaning over the basin, Arlo took a deep breath, the realization sinking in that they were probably lucky to be_ alive. _ He shoved the thought away before it could take hold of him, reaching for his toothbrush.

Clean and slightly less sore, he limped to his room and dressed in old sweats, then rifled through his pile of dirty clothes. Bunched up inside his filthy jacket pocket was his Flying Pigs bandanna, torn in several places and bloodstained. He ran his hands over the once soft cloth, now rigid and brittle and completely ruined. He’d worn that bandanna every day for _ years, _ the little square of blue and white fabric acting as a physical reminder to never give up, keep chasing his dreams.

He used to know what those dreams were, but after everything he’d been through, Arlo wasn’t sure if they were the same as before - if he was the same man as before. Sighing, he tossed the destroyed bandanna into the trash bin, and left.

Remington had returned, along with Sam and Sonia, who carried in a large basket and began setting trays and covered bowls on the coffee table. Sam hissed as she sat in one of the chairs.

“Cracked ribs,” she explained. “At least two, maybe three. Won’t be riding my horse for a good month.”

Remington patted his right shoulder. “I’m out of commission for the next two weeks.”

Arlo gestured at his ankle. “Probably three weeks for me, at least.”

With a chuckle, Remington used his free hand to open up one of the containers of food. “We sure took a beating, huh?”

Arlo could only nod as he reached for a plate.

  
  


\-----

  
  


The next morning, Arlo grabbed his crutches and went straight for the clinic.

Phyllis was there, smiling although she looked like she’d stayed up all night. Arlo made his way to the chair at the side of the bed where Elora slept, the heart monitor beside her still beeping away. Her hair had been taken down and combed out, her clothes replaced with a white hospital gown.

“Has she woken up yet?” he asked.

Phyllis checked the hanging fluid bag next to the bed. “Not yet,” she answered. “But her vitals are strong. From what I heard from Sam and Remington, she might need more time to recover. It sounds like you all went through quite a lot.”

Sighing, Arlo set his crutches to the side. “You could say that,” he said ruefully, his body still aching and feeble. He reached for Elora’s hand, peeking out from under the blankets, and curled his fingers around her bruised knuckles.

He sat by her bed watching her breathe for the better part of an hour, until Phyllis shooed him out with orders to eat and rest. The sun was shining when he left, sparkling off the piles of snow and ice. Arlo sat on the clinic’s front steps, stretching his injured leg out, still wrapped tight in the heavy brace. From down in the town, he could hear a faint echo of bustling activity, probably a clean-up effort after it was thrashed by machines.

Arlo put his head down. He couldn’t pitch in with his injuries, he couldn’t do rounds or protect anyone, and there was nothing he could do for Elora. He felt so _ helpless. _

Soft footsteps approached, crunching in the snow. Arlo looked up to see Nora in her golden yellow coat, turning to sit on the steps beside him.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

He sighed heavily. “As much as I can be.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, the midwinter sun warm against the surrounding ice.

“She’ll be fine,” Nora said softly. Arlo whipped his head up to stare wide-eyed at her, but Nora just smiled, gentle and soft.

“Elora,” she nodded towards the clinic doors. “She’s tough.”

Arlo frowned deeply as he glanced at the brace around his ankle. “She wouldn’t have gotten hurt if I’d kept her out of all of this.”

He saw Nora move out of the corner of his eye, then a hand in a knit glove gently patted his arm. “I saw the battle,” Nora said. “She saved your life, you know. That Knight knocked you down and went straight for you, but Elora held him back.”

His memory of fighting the Knight were muddled, but Arlo clearly recalled opening his eyes to find Elora standing over him, begging him to get up as she fended off the Rogue Knight.

Beside him, Nora shifted. “You should tell her, Arlo. Tell her you love her.”

Arlo hear himself gasp, slowly turning to face Nora. A hot wash of shame overcame him. Sweet Nora, who’d confessed her love for him only to be turned down, was telling Arlo to love someone else. He found himself struck by how brave and selfless she truly was.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, not knowing what else to say.

Nora shook her head. “You and I just weren’t meant to be, Arlo. But I think you and Elora are.” She leaned close, pressing a tiny kiss to his temple before she stood and walked away. Arlo stayed where he was until his growling stomach forced him to move.

  
  


\-----

  
  


The next morning, Arlo was slowly regaining his strength, partly in thanks to the hearty meals that Django was having delivered to the Civil Corps. While he was thankful for the courtesy, Arlo found himself restless, a kind of cabin fever gnawing at him. He wanted to go for a long run, or ride his horse out into the fields, or do his rounds. But a sharp throb from his injured ankle warned him not to attempt any activity. Every time he put weight on his right leg, it would extend his healing time by a day - that’s what Xu had told him. And while Arlo wasn’t keen on testing the theory, his agitation eventually won out, and he managed to gear up Spacer and climb into the saddle with only minimal stress to his wounds.

Riding slowly through town, Arlo was torn between relief and melancholy. The streets were still littered with rubble from the destruction, wooden boards hastily nailed over the holes that had been blasted into various buildings. Residents were out with brooms and shovels to help clean up, and at the north end of Peach Plaza stood Albert, Gust, and Gale, bent over several charts and diagrams on a table. Albert perked up as Arlo approached.

“Captain,” he greeted. “Feeling better?”

Arlo nodded. “All things considered. What’s the status on the town?”

Scratching his head, Albert sighed, his breath fogging in front of him. “I won’t lie, it’s extensive. We have _ a lot _ of reconstruction work ahead of us. But the good news is that no one was hurt - well,” he paused, eyeing the brace on Arlo’s leg. “No one else.”

“We can’t seem to find Aadit,” Gale interjected, his face forlorn. “Dawa tells us he found a hastily written note saying goodbye, but we have no other clues as to his whereabouts.”

Frowning, Arlo glanced over his shoulder towards the Tree Farm. He would have to investigate as soon as possible.

“How’s Elora?” Albert asked, drawing his attention back to the plaza.

“Still sleeping,” Arlo answered, feeling a bit numb. The other three men hung their heads.

Albert took a deep breath. “Right,” he said quietly. “Thanks for the update.”

With a short nod, Arlo clicked his tongue and set Spacer at a slow walk down Main Street. It seemed as though everyone had put their other tasks aside to help, carrying wheelbarrows of rubble and sweeping away snow. Alice’s flower stand was gone, the florist and her brother cleaning up what little was left. The front of Martha’s bakery was boarded up, a sign tacked to the front instructing others to visit the Round Table to purchase bread. In central plaza, the remains of the school and plot of soil where the Wishing Tree once stood were being carefully demolished, as was what used to be the Eastern gate. Higgins stood to the side as Paulie and the Hulu brothers worked, making notes on a large pad of paper.

“Arlo?”

A small voice caught Arlo’s attention, and he turned to find Carol and Mars’ daughters, bundled up in colorful coats and scarves. Polly wrung her mitten-clad hands.

“Is miss Elora going to be okay?” she asked. “Dad says she’s still in the clinic.”

Staring down at the little girls, Arlo felt his heart sink. “She’s still asleep,” he told them. “But Phyllis and Doctor Xu said she’s going to be fine.”

Dolly sniffled, and Molly put her arm around her sister.

As he rode away and around the plaza, Arlo was stopped by several citizens, and each time he was asked about Elora. By the time he’d circled back and reached Peach Plaza, his chest felt hollow and heavy, his heart thumping painfully as he glanced out the Western Gate at her yard and workshop. Starlight was still in her stable, wearing a dark blue winter blanket, her feeding trough overflowing with wheat and hay. Someone had made sure to care for the animal in Elora’s stead.

Arlo could feel her absence from the town like a lead weight. He steered his horse back up the ramp towards the clinic, clumsily dismounting and grabbing his crutches to enter the tiny hospital.

Phyllis was at the desk when he entered, but Arlo went straight past her to the furthest bed. Elora hadn’t moved, though the bandages on her face had been changed, the swelling around her wounds significantly lessened from the day before.

_ Tell her you love her. _

As gently as he could, Arlo took her hand from the bed and held it between his own. Her fingers were warm, the callouses fading, and Arlo was struck by how much he missed her; even though she was inches from him, she felt miles away. He rested his cheek against the back of her hand and sighed deeply, closing his eyes as he tried to push away fearful thoughts before they could fully form. He wouldn’t entertain the notion of Elora not coming back to him. He couldn’t.

Something tickled his hair, once and then again. Arlo drew in a breath and pulled his head up, looking down at the hand that he held. Slender, scarred fingers moved and wiggled slowly.

Following the line of her arm to her face, Arlo saw Elora’s eyes, cracked open and focused on him. His entire chest constricted as he shot out of his chair, pain shooting up his right leg as the crutches beside him clattered to the floor.

“El,” he gasped, squeezing her fingers with one hand and stroking her hair with the other. She smiled softly, the movement stunted on her left cheek where the bandages were thickest.

“Hey,” Elora whispered, her voice thin and delicate. “You look like shit.”

Arlo choked on a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. “You should see yourself,” he whispered as he leaned down, resting his forehead against hers.

  
  


\-----

  
  
  


After Elora awoke, it was as if life returned to Portia. Arlo visited her in the clinic every day, chatting with her until he was told to leave, and the relief he felt as seeing her sit up and joke with him was almost more than he could bear. He was also present when Xu removed the bandages on her face to check the wounds - and Arlo felt sick with guilt.

A long gash split her face, stretching from the left side of her jaw to above her right temple, skating over the bridge of her nose and cutting straight through her eyebrow. It seemed like a miracle that her right eye hadn’t been hit. The deepest part of the wound had been carefully stitched shut, forming a cris-cross pattern on her cheek, while the rest were held tight with butterfly closures. Elora blinked at a handheld mirror.

“Oof,” she said after a long while. “That’s… pretty bad.”

Doctor Xu took up a wad of gauze and a bottle of liquid in his gloved hands. “It’s healing very well,” he assured, softly dabbing the wet gauze against the stitches. “It looks bad now, but you’d be surprised how fast facial scars fade. In three or four years, there will barely be anything there.”

Though she held still while Xu worked, Arlo could tell the treatment hurt by the way her eyebrows pinched together. The Doctor carefully taped a fresh pad of gauze over the stitches, then removed his gloves and walked away.

“Your lip looks better,” Elora said softly. “How’s the ankle?”

Arlo unconsciously reached up to touch the left side of his bottom lip, which had finally scabbed over. “Alright,” he said. “Still can’t put weight on it, though.”

Elora nodded. “Ankles take forever to heal.”

Silence descended, with only the sounds of Doctor Xu working nearby to cut it. Arlo took one of Elora’s hands and squeezed.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his throat closing around a surge of guilt. “I should have protected you--”

“Stop.”

Arlo’s eyes snapped up to find Elora smiling sadly at him. “This isn’t your fault,” she whispered.

He gripped her hand tighter, shaking his head. “If I’d put my foot down and kept you out of this, you wouldn’t be stitched up in a hospital bed.”

“And if I _ hadn’t _ been there,” she countered, “You might be a dead man, so I'm glad I was.” Elora patted his hand where it held hers. “Besides, the scar will make me look tough, don’t you think?”

There was a clear hint of teasing in her voice, and Arlo looked up to find her giving him a lopsided smirk. He blinked, then huffed a laugh, lowering his head as his eyes stung.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Elora was discharged the next day, riding a Dee Dee away from the clinic and back to her home. Arlo used his own money to hire Ack to help her out while she healed, warning the AI that Elora would likely find some way to do work when she should be resting.

He only saw her in passing for several days, each of them mostly confined to their homes by their injuries. Each time, Elora would smile and wave, as cheerful as ever.

The Winter Solstice took place the very next week. Though Portia was still in shambles, the Hulu brothers carried the giant hot pot into Central Plaza, filling it with soup broth as Emily set up her food stall. Arlo rode a Dee Dee down from the Civil Corps, still using his crutches to get nearly everywhere. Remington’s arm was free of the sling, though he would still rub at his shoulder, and Sam still moved carefully.

Most of the rubble had been cleared from the area, though it still looked a mess, and likely would until reconstruction began. As the townsfolk gathered, Arlo spotted Elora, walking down Main Street with Ack at her side, Scraps following close behind. She sat on a bench near where the Wishing tree once was, dressed up in suede boots, a long skirt, and a cable knit sweater - just like the year before.

Arlo took a seat next to her, setting his crutches aside. The bruising on her face was almost entirely gone, the heavy bandages replaced with thin strips of white gauze to cover the stitches. If it weren’t for that, he’d think she was in near perfect health, her eyes bright and alert, her cheeks rosy.

Once the plaza was filled with people, Gale cleared his throat. Silence descended.

“Hello, everyone,” the mayor began. “Thank you all for coming to this year’s Solstice hot pot. Before we eat, I’d like to say a few words.”

Gale paused for a moment as the eyes of the town turned to him.

“As you all know, we experienced something very frightening here in Portia recently. It’s no exaggeration to say that it might have felt like the end of the world.” Several murmurs of agreement rose from the crowd. “Our town sustained quite a bit of damage, and it will take a lot of work to repair. But,” Gale gestured to the people around him. “We are all still here. _ Portia _ is still here. And while some of us may need time to heal,” he sent a pointed glance towards the bench where Arlo and Elora sat, “I am confident that we are now stronger than ever. As a community, and as a family. We will rebuild, and show the world just how capable Portia is!”

Applause echoed through the plaza. Gale held up his hand.

“Some of you have asked about the fate of the pirates in our custody. While there is only so much information I am able to disclose, I will say that the Lucien government will be sending agents to escort them back to Atara for trial. I also want to urge residents to please feel free to come to my office if you have other issues.” He paused. “And yes, it seems that Aadit is missing, though we have reason to believe he left Portia of his own accord. Should anyone have information on his whereabouts, or a way to contact him, let us know. Whatever his reasons for leaving, he was a treasured member of our community, and we will welcome him back with open arms.”

Many folks nodded. Minister Lee stepped forward and began his usual Solstice sermon, and Arlo bowed his head. Portia, his beautiful, serene little town, barely a speck on the map of the known world. The place he was born, where he grew up, and the city he’d been ready to give his life to protect. It had been through so much in the last three years. Change and growth, violence and destruction, joy and celebration. New faces, new stories, new traditions. It wasn’t the same city anymore. But as Arlo accepted a bowl of hot pot stew from Django, he glanced at Elora happily eating by his side, and thought that the change wasn’t a bad thing at all.


	16. Spring 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it!! Here goes!!
> 
> content warning: mentions of blood

The first day of spring broke bright and clear, the sun springing up over the eastern mountains and flooding the town with soft, golden light. The plazas and streets were filled with the sound of dripping water as the snow quickly melted under the new warmth, and the quiet of the morning slowly filled with the sounds of brooms, footsteps, and chatter as the town awoke.

Arlo was on his horse and riding into town at dawn to witness the shrugging off of winter, puddles of melted ice glittering in the sunlight. Citizens waved hello, greeting him cheerfully despite the lingering destruction. After buying a sausage and cheese hand pie from Martha, still warm from the oven, Arlo slowly did his rounds, licking his fingers as he finished his breakfast. Now that the weather was warming, reconstruction could begin in earnest, and it was hard not to feel a little giddy at the prospect of it, especially since his ankle had mended enough to trade out the heavy brace for a much lighter fabric one that fit inside his boot. His movements were still limited, but he could finally walk without his crutches - for short distances, at least. His happiness at healing was almost enough to offset his irritability at the visible loss of muscle mass since he’d been injured, his arms and chest thinning noticeably as he was unable to exercise properly for weeks. He’d have a lot of catching up to do once he was back to one hundred percent.

Near nine o’clock, as Lucy herded the children towards the commerce guild for lessons in their make-shift classroom, Arlo steered Spacer back up Main Street, turning to head through the Western Gate. The ocean shimmered as he rode down the southern path, stopping at the gate of Elora’s yard.

He pondered going to her door, but spotted her at her factory console, a sheet of paper in her hand that looked suspiciously like a commission form. Frowning, he left the gate and rode along the fence, stopping where he was closest.

“I hope that’s not  _ work  _ you’re doing,” Arlo said, keeping his tone light. “If memory serves, you’re supposed to be on leave for another week to heal.”

Elora’s head snapped up. She blinked at him for a moment before smiling - Arlo tried not to notice how her smiles were mostly one-sided now, a white strip of bandage still adorning her left cheek. “If you could even call this work,” she replied, tapping at the console in front of her. “Since I had this thing built, I hardly do any manual labor anymore. I just tell it what to make, and walk away. It’s all automated. And,” she added with a familiar hint of defiance, “That school isn’t going to rebuild itself, you know.”

Arlo leaned against the front of his saddle and raised an eyebrow. Elora raised her right eyebrow in response, the dark stripe of scarred skin stretching above her eye. He finally shook his head and huffed a laugh.

“Fine, but I’d better not catch you exerting yourself. I can have you placed under house arrest, you know.”

Adjusting her white woven shawl, Elora scoffed. “That won’t be a problem, honestly. I’m  _ still _ sore.”

“Same here,” Arlo nodded. “What are you up to today?”

Elora laughed as she hit a few more buttons on her factory console, then folded up the commission sheet and tucked it into her jeans pocket.  _ “Nothing. _ With Ack around doing all the chores and errands, and Sonia bringing me food every day, I have literally nothing to do. It’s…kind of weird.”

“Good.” Arlo straightened up and adjusted the reins in his hands. “Get some rest, I’ve got to get back to work. See you around?”

“I’ll probably be at the Round Table for dinner.” Pressing her lips together, Elora glanced from his face to his clothes. “What happened to your bandanna, Arlo? I haven’t seen you wearing it in a while.”

He was reaching up to touch the collar of his jacket before he realized it, still surprised to find the bandanna gone. “It got trashed in the battle,” he answered. “Had to throw it out.”

Her face fell, mouth turning downwards in a melancholy frown as she took a step closer. “I’m sorry,” Elora said softly. “I know how much it meant to you.”

Arlo shrugged. “It was just a piece of cloth,” he replied with a smile. “I can get a new one.” He wasn’t sure if he meant getting a new bandanna, or something else entirely, but Elora grinned up at him.

“Not a bad idea. Blue is a good color on you.”

Warmed by her presence, Arlo gave her a wink before turning his horse back towards town.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Toby’s face was red and downcast as he entered the Civil Corps the next afternoon. Arlo put a hand on his shoulder and guided him to the couches, where they both sat, Toby avoiding his gaze. Arlo let the silence linger for a few moments.

“Do you know why you’re here?” He asked the boy.

Toby nodded, but didn’t look up. “Ma said I had to talk to you about stealing the battery from the big AI thing.” He fidgeted in place. “She already gave me an awful earful for it.”

Patting Toby’s back, Arlo smiled. “Well, I’m not going to do the same. I just want to make sure you understand  _ why _ your mother was so upset.”

Freckled cheeks went impossibly redder as Toby gulped. “It was really dangerous, I know. But,” He looked up to Arlo, his wide eyes glittering with tears. “That knight was gonna get away! No one else saw the power stone, I had to get it, he might have won if I hadn’t--”

“Easy,” Arlo soothed, keeping his voice low and even. “I’m not angry with you. What you did was very brave, and we might not have made it out otherwise.”

The boy sniffled wetly. “Really?”

“Yes.” Arlo gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’m proud of you, Toby. But try not to play hero again, alright? You still have a long way to go until you can be a famous adventurer.”

Nodding rapidly, Toby sniffled again before throwing himself against Arlo’s chest, who hugged him tight.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Though the spring had begun with a burst of warmth that melted away the snow, winter clung viciously to the air, nights remaining chilly and damp for the first week. Arlo finally returned his crutches to Xu’s clinic, keeping the fabric brace on every day as a precaution. He had healed, but there was now a visible difference between his left and right ankles, the injured one still bearing a bit of swelling in the soft spaces between the bones. Phyllis had told Arlo to expect it to linger for years, as most ankle injuries would.

Elora’s stitches were removed, the gash in the left side of her face finally closing into a long, dusty pink scar. Her spirits were high as she oversaw the reconstruction of the Portia school - Arlo was pleased to see her keeping a distance instead of heading up the building herself. Though she’d regained some of the movement in her cheek, Elora’s grins were always a little one sided now, from what he feared was permanent nerve damage. It made his heart hurt to see it, knowing her bright smile was forever changed by what they’d endured.

They ate lunch together most days, sometimes outside when the spring sunlight would show itself, sometimes in the warmth of the Round Table when the wind would howl cold through the streets. Arlo enjoyed her company, as he always had, but something new sparkled between them as they ate and laughed, clicking their glasses together in casual toasts. It was a thankfulness that they were both still in one piece, having come so close to losing themselves and each other.

He hadn’t made a conscious effort to do so, but Arlo found himself altering his rounds to escort Elora home at the end of each day, first walking her to her gate, then slowly following all the way to her door as their conversation dallied. Each time, her eyes would shine as she bid him goodnight with a hand on her door, and Arlo would pause for a long moment before saying a soft goodnight and turning to leave.

The breeze was cool and damp as Arlo returned to the Civil Corps, the street lamps turning on around him to light the town. Portia was on the mend, as was he, and a glowing contentment surrounded him. Inside the Corps, Remington was fresh from the shower, dressed in cotton sweats and toweling off his hair.

“Everything alright?” He asked. Arlo nodded as he unbuckled his holster from his chest.

“Yeah, I was just walking Elora home.”

Remington’s movements slowed. “How is she?”

“Well.” Unzipping his jacket, Arlo stopped and frowned. “She’ll never smile the same again, though.”

Setting his towel aside, Remi nodded. “Could have been a lot worse.” He was quiet as Arlo walked towards his room, removing his jacket and hip pouch as he went. “And what about the two of you?”

Arlo went still, his belt in his hand. “What do you mean?”

The stare he got from his old friend cut straight to his core. Remington raised one eyebrow high. “Arlo,” he said, his tone deadpan.

Letting his arm drop, Arlo slumped in place. “We haven’t really talked about it,” he admitted, the ‘it’ being what was happening between himself and Elora. It had floated unsaid between them for months, trapped in the lingering gazes they shared, something so powerful that he found himself afraid to put it to words. It had only intensified after their near demise at the hands of Everglade and the Rogue Knight, crackling in the air around them whenever they were close.

“What’s stopping you?”

As Remington stared him down, Arlo shrank, realizing that he didn’t have an answer. Part of him wanted to say that it was because they were both still recovering from their wounds, but deep down, he knew it was an excuse. Something was keeping him at bay, but Elora hadn’t said anything either, despite her heavy glances. 

“I think,” Remington said slowly, “That she’s waiting for  _ you.” _ And with that, the eldest Civil Corps member climbed the stairs to his room, the door clicking shut behind him. Arlo stood alone in the common area for several minutes, staring down at the floor.

  
  


\-----

  
  


The first thing he registered was that he was  _ cold. _

So cold, a chill that clawed its way into his veins and lungs, made his joints ache. The cobblestone beneath him was ice-covered and rough as he raised his head, every part of him hurting. A cruel laugh rang out. Turning, he saw the Knight, towering over the plaza as his horrible distorted laughter bounced off the buildings and rattled windows. The sky turned dark.

Something pulled at him, a whisper, dragging his gaze back around to a wide pool of red. And in the center, a figure dressed in dark green and white fur, face down and unmoving.

Panic gripped his heart as he crawled towards it, dragging his unresponsive body, a pain unlike any he’d ever felt throbbing in his legs. Red splashed and stained his clothes as he reached for the figure, turning them over in his arms.

Blood, so much blood, pouring from a terrible slash that split her face. He pressed his ear against her chest, hoping, praying - but there was no sound, no movement or breath. All was still as inhuman laughter echoed louder and louder --

  
  


Arlo’s whole body jerked as he gasped, snapping up from his pillow. He stared at his tangled blankets, the pounding of his heart roaring in his ears, his stomach turning as he panted for air. 

He twisted and sat up. His room. He was in his room, and this was his bed. Confusion and terror faded into recognition as the walls came into focus, the ticking clock on the windowsill, his threadbare sheets. Taking a deep breath, Arlo rubbed at his face, his whole body soaked in cold sweat.

A dream. It was just a dream.

The vision of Elora flashed before his eyes, bloody and broken, her heartbeat nowhere to be found. His stomach tossed again. It was just a dream.

Wasn’t it?

He was out of his bed and shucking off his sweatpants before he registered the movement at all, shoving his legs into his jeans and reaching for his jacket. It felt as though a knife had been driven between his ribs, throbbing in time with his pulse and aching with every breath.  _ It was just a dream, _ the rational part of him cried, but the rest of him was unconvinced, lacing his boots over his bare feet and leaving the Civil Corps.

Outside was cold, shockingly so, Arlo’s breath fogging in front of him as he took the western path down to the town. Rain beat against him, soaking his hair, making goosebumps rise on every part of him. He nearly slipped more than once, catching himself before toppling to the ground, his heart still hammering inside his chest as he walked out the Western Gate.

Just a dream.

He was at Elora’s doorstep, dripping rainwater on her covered porch, a light on in her window. Arlo raised his fist to knock, and stopped. What was he doing? It was the middle of the night, and he’d just walked all the way here in the pouring rain - because he had a nightmare? Chiding himself, he turned to leave, just as a muffled yip came from inside.

A clack of a turning lock, and the door opened, spilling light onto the porch. Arlo froze in place as Elora scanned him up and down, her eyes wide. Scraps gave a quiet bark from near her feet.

“Arlo?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

His tongue stuck in place as he took her in, the shawl she often wore, knit sweater, her hair falling out of the messy bun at the top of her head. The scar on the left side of her cheek stood out, even in the darkness.

“Nothing,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” With that, he stepped back, embarrassment creeping into him as he turned to leave.

A hand snatched his wrist, halting him. Arlo looked back to see Elora, her fingers curled around his arm.

“You’re soaked,” she said. “Come inside.”

He stared at the sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t want to be a bother.” His voice sounded strange, like it was far away, someone else saying those words.

As if on cue, a rumble of thunder cut through the sky, the rain around them coming down even harder. Elora’s other hand joined her first on Arlo’s arm, pulling until he felt himself give. The door clicked shut behind him as soon as he was inside.

A reading lamp hung over the couch, illuminating the space as the smoldering remains of a fire glowed in the hearth. The warmth hit his face and Arlo shivered, crossing his arms over his chest as he finally realized that he was  _ freezing, _ his jacket, boots, and jeans drenched through. Elora took him by the elbow and led him across the space to her bathroom, leaving a trail of muddy footprints behind them. She flicked on the light, snatched a folded towel from a shelf next to the tub, and flung it over his head.

“Stay here,” she commanded, and left.

Arlo stood in place for several seconds, not moving an inch. What was even happening? Reaching up, he scrubbed the towel over his hair and dried his face. Elora popped back in, a bundle of clothes in her arms.

“Here,” she offered them to him. “These should fit you. I helped Paulie clean out his storage a few months ago and he let me keep some stuff. I kept meaning to scrap them for fiber, I guess it’s good that I didn’t.” She pointed to the metal bar above the tub where a curtain was pushed aside. “Hang your wet clothes there, then come sit by the fire.”

Then she left the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Arlo sat heavily on the edge of the tub, staring at the sweats in his hands for a long while before standing back up and stripping out of his soaked clothes, hanging his jacket, shirt, and jeans on the shower rack, setting his muddy boots aside. The items she gave him had definitely belonged to Paulie, hanging loose and baggy on his frame, the collar of the sweatshirt wide enough that it nearly slipped off his shoulders. He had to tighten the drawstring on the pants considerably just to keep them from falling off his hips, but the fabric was well worn and soft against his skin.

Before he left the bathroom, Arlo used the towel to wipe up the mud he’d tracked in, tossing it on top of the hamper in the corner.

Elora was waiting for him, taking him by the arm once again and leading him to the couch. Arlo sat, noticing that a fresh log had been added to the fire, crackling over hot coals as a fluffy blanket was draped over his shoulders. He pulled it closer to himself, digging his bare toes into the carpet, his feet still chilled. A mug appeared in front of him.

Arlo followed the arm holding it up to Elora’s smile. “Drink this,” she told him. “It’ll stave off a cold.”

He took the mug and held it with both hands as she sat next to him. It was slices of lemon and ginger steeped in hot water; he could taste a touch of honey as he sipped, though not enough to make it sweet. It warmed him all over, the goosebumps that covered him finally smoothing out.

Elora was silent as he drank, taking the mug from his hands and setting it on the coffee table when it was empty. “So,” she said quietly. “Any chance you’ll tell me why you were wandering around in the dead of night during a storm?”

Arlo stared down at her, his eyes snapping to her scar, a darkened divot that cut into her jaw. The nightmare flooded back to him, her lifeless body in his arms, and his throat closed tight. Elora waited patiently for several minutes, then nodded and turned back towards the fire.

“Fair enough.”

They sat in silence. At some point, she leaned into him, resting her weight against his shoulder as the log burned down to embers. When she yawned wide, he turned his head to watch her rub her eyes, and found his voice.

“You should get some sleep,” Arlo whispered.

Elora nodded. “Yeah. You should too.” She stood, straightening her shawl. “Goodnight, Arlo.”

Then she rounded the couch and went to her bedroom, a shuffling of fabric and blankets following. Then all was quiet, save for the occasional pop from the fireplace. Arlo heaved a heavy sigh and stretched out on the couch, shifting the blanket to cover his legs and feet and settling into the cushions as the rain lashed at the windows.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Dawn broke with a wave of light that shone right over his eyes, far brighter than it should have been in his tiny underground room. He blinked against it, disoriented. Where was he? Why did his bed feel different?

As he sat up, Arlo glanced around, starting to recognize his surroundings. The brick hearth, wood floors, rows of windows that the early morning sun now poured through: this was Elora’s home. He was on her couch, wrapped up in a thick blanket. Rubbing the grit from his eyes, Arlo tried to recall how he’d ended up there, dressed in unfamiliar clothes.

He frowned as he pieced it together. He’d shown up at her door in the middle of a storm like a stray animal seeking shelter, and she’d taken him in without question. The empty mug she’d given him was still on the coffee table, the bottom lined with lemon and ginger slices. It was so like her - to extend such warmth and ask for nothing in return - that Arlo’s heart thumped against his ribs. He rose and went for the bathroom, dressing in his still damp clothes, returning to the couch to fold the blanket and old pajamas in a neat pile. A pad of paper sat on top of a stack of books nearby, and Arlo snatched a piece to scribble a hasty thank you note, setting it on top of the clothes.

With his boots in his hand, he stopped by the entryway to Elora’s bedroom. Inside, lit by the gentle early morning light, she was still sound asleep, cocooned in a pile of quilts that rose and fell with her slow and steady breaths. Her hair spilled out over the pillow in waves, and for a moment she shifted, sighing. He froze in place, but Elora didn’t wake.

Watching her sleep, Arlo found it hard to breathe, almost overcome with the urge to go to her side, to be closer to her warmth. His chest went tight.

_ Don’t let it slip away. _

_ She’s waiting for you. _

_ Tell her you love her. _

He took a step forward, his rationale reaching a critical low. Then from outside, a rooster cawed brokenly, just loud enough to hear through the windows. It snapped Arlo from his trance, and he took one last look at Elora before heading to the door, slipping on his dirty boots, and leaving as quietly as he could.

Portia was just barely beginning to stir as he walked back into town, becoming more aware of how uncomfortable his clothes were, not having had enough time to dry properly from the night before. Part of him longed to return to Elora’s home, to put the old pajamas back on and wait by her bedside until she awoke, see her rise from her slumber. As he passed Peach’s Fountain, half in a daze, he spotted Alice’s brown sweater as she left the Round Table.

He might as well have been struck over the head with how quickly the solution came to him in all its blessed simplicity. Anyone who witnessed him chasing the florist down must have thought him mad with the way he rushed, his right ankle throbbing dully. “Alice,” He wheezed. She turned and smiled.

“Hello, Arlo. What can I do for you?”

He slid to a stop in front of her, the words jamming in his throat before he forced them out. No more running, no more stalling.

“I need to buy a heart knot,” he whispered.

Alice’s face lit up, a wide smile stretching from ear to ear. “Oh, Arlo!” She clasped her hands together. “That’s wonderful! I don’t have any ready right now, but I can make one today and get it to you tomorrow morning, is that alright?”

He nodded and thanked her, then made his way back to the Civil Corps for a shower and a change of clothes, a strange but pleasant buzzing beneath his skin.

  
  


\-----

  
  


As he did his rounds later that afternoon, he came upon Elora, riding her horse through the eastern fields. His pulse instantly quickened as she approached, steering Starlight to intercept him.

“Hey,” she greeted, pulling the reins. “Are you feeling better?”

Arlo held his breath for just a moment. Under the spring sun, Elora glowed as though lit from within, her hair pulled into a neat braid over one shoulder. She was so beautiful. “Yes,” he answered, concentrating on keeping his voice steady. “Thank you. I was a bit out of sorts last night.”

Her gentle gaze warmed him to his core, where his heart beat in a staccato. “Anytime, Arlo. I’m here for you.”

They stared at each other from their saddles, the air between them becoming charged, until Starlight gave a whinny, shaking her mane. Elora patted the horse’s neck and cooed. “Easy, girl. I should get going, she has an appointment with McDonald to be re-shoed.”

Arlo nodded. “Right. I’ll, um, see you later, then.”

“Later,” Elora said, clicking her tongue to get Starlight moving. As she trotted away, a plan came to Arlo, and he was quickly urging Spacer forward to catch up.

“El,” he called out. She turned back as he rode to her. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

She blinked, then shrugged. “I don’t think so, why?”

Arlo felt a little dizzy. “Want to go for a ride with me?”

He would never forget the way she smiled then, so soft and kind. “I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll be at your workshop at around eighteen hundred?”

Elora giggled softly. “See you then.”

With that, she rode towards the ranch, veering on to the southern road. Arlo watched her go, overwhelmed with a bubbly excitement. Tomorrow. He couldn’t wait.

  
  


\-----

  
  


He sprang from his bed the next morning, leaving Spacer in the stable and lightly jogging into down. It felt good to move again, his whole body humming with anticipation as he traveled through Peach Plaza and slowed as he approached Main Street. Passing the Round Table, he spotted Alice, carrying a wooden tray lined with fresh cut flowers to her makeshift stand. She turned to greet him as he slowed his pace.

“Good morning!” she greeted cheerfully. As Arlo came closer, she pulled a bit of folded cloth from beneath a pile of flowers. “It’s ready,” she told him quietly, unfolding the fabric to reveal what was inside.

Arlo gasped softly. It was a heart knot, carefully woven silk cords in several shades of crimson and pink, shimmering gold thread braided into intricate patterns along the folds. It was far more elegant than her usual stock, though he hadn’t asked for anything special.

“It’s incredible,” Arlo breathed, running a fingertip along the smooth surface. “What do I owe you?”

Alice folded the cloth back over the knot and placed it into his open hand. “This one’s on me.”

He blinked at her, then shook his head. “This must have taken you hours, Alice. I’ll pay for it.” He reached for his hip pouch, but Alice snatched his hand, folding it over the wrapped knot and pressing it to his chest.

She smiled coyly. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Now go get her, Arlo. We’re all rooting for you.”

Struck by her generosity, Arlo slowly slipped the little package into his pocket and said a shy thank you. As he walked away, heat rushed to his cheeks. What did she mean, they were  _ all _ rooting for him?

  
  


\-----

  
  


At seventeen hundred hours, as the sun began to move towards the west, Arlo rushed back to the Civil Corps to clean up. He scrubbed himself twice over in the shower, brushed his teeth, combed out his hair. It felt a little like overkill, but as he buttoned one of his nicer shirts and slipped his favorite leather jacket over it, he knew that he wanted to do this right. He’d spent so long dancing around the subject that he at least owed Elora that much.

Triple checking to make sure the heart knot was securely in his pocket, he climbed into Spacer’s saddle and headed off. The weather was thankfully clear that day, not a cloud to be seen since dawn. It was perfect.

Elora was out in her yard, her cherry red jacket reflecting the late afternoon sun as she stood beside Starlight’s stable. Arlo pulled the reins to bring Spacer to a stop outside her fence, dismounting and walking to the gate.

“Hey,” he greeted. “Ready to go?”

Starlight huffed loudly, shaking her head. Elora flinched and took a step back from her horse. “Uh, any chance we can do something else?” she asked, frowning. “Starlight didn’t exactly enjoy getting her new shoes yesterday, and she’s still mad at me. I don’t think she’s up for a ride.”

Arlo approached the stable. The mare did seem irritable, huffing and scraping her hooves through the dirt. “Have you apologized?” he asked teasingly. Elora rolled her eyes.

“I’ve been buttering her up with slices of pumpkin all day. I think she just needs to cool off.”

Chewing his lip, Arlo considered his options. His plan required them to ride for a good thirty minutes, but if Elora’s mount was unavailable -

“Let’s just take my horse,” he offered. “Spacer’s strong, he can handle us both.”

Elora stared at him wide eyed, and it might have been a trick of the light, but he could swear her cheeks flushed pink. “Oh, um. Okay, sure,” she said. They left the stable and went to where Arlo had left Spacer nibbling at the new grass by the path. Elora climbed into the saddle first, scooting forward so Arlo could sit behind her. He took the reins, his arms encircling her body, and clicked his tongue to set off.

They rode along the southern path, the river babbling softly along the banks as crabs skittered in an out of the water. Elora was warm against him, leaning her back into his chest as she braced her hands on the front of the saddle. He could smell the scent of her hair where the braided bun at the crown of her head pressed against his jacket, and Arlo was glad she couldn’t see his face, which was plastered with a dopey smile that he couldn’t suppress. They crossed the Portia bridge and rode into the desert, the sky turning pink as sunset neared.

“Where are we going?” Elora asked softly.

Arlo grinned. “There’s a spot by the waterfall where you can see the whole town,” he answered, leaning forward to help Spacer balance as they went up a slope of sand. “I like to come up here sometimes, it’s a perfect view.”

Elora hummed, and Arlo wondered if she could feel how his heart was pounding.

They passed the wind turbines, the sand giving way to grass as they neared the upper river. Pulling his horse to a stop, Arlo dismounted and helped Elora down from the saddle to walk the short distance out to a wide stretch of stone that bordered the northern edge of the desert. From here, Portia glittered as the setting sun bathed the countryside in red and gold, soft lights blinking on in windows like fireflies.

“Wow,” Elora breathed.

Arlo stood next to her. “The city looks amazing from up here,” he told her quietly.

“Yeah, it does.”

After a few minutes, Elora sat on the stone, wrapping her arms around her knees as she stared out at the lines of rooftops. The sun crawled towards the sea, nearly fitting itself into the giant stone archway that marked the border of the territory.

“I love this place,” she said softly, the breeze rustling the loose wisps of hair that surrounded her face. “It’s been a long time since I had somewhere that really felt like home, but Portia is my home now.”

Arlo nodded as he sat beside her. “I was born here,” he said, scanning the town, its familiar streets and alleys. “I’ve always lived here. I want to see the rest of the world someday, but Portia will always be where my heart is, I think.”

“I’m glad we could save it,” Elora whispered.

Her eyes were on the city, but Arlo’s were on her, the fading light shining against her cheeks and nose, highlighting her scars. They’d been through so much, both of them. A sharp wind swept over the landscape, cold compared to the warmth that lingered from the sunny afternoon, and Elora visibly shivered.

Arlo coiled an arm around her shoulders. “C’mere,” he murmured, pulling her against him. Elora was pliant, leaning into Arlo’s side with a sigh as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. They stayed like that for a long while, his thumb stroking a slow rhythm into the fabric of her jacket as daylight faded, the sky before them blazing a brilliant red. Though it was quiet, Arlo’s pulse raced as he reached for his pocket.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said softly, his breath warm against her hair.

“Hmm?”

He squeezed his eyes shut for just a second, steeling his frayed nerves. Then slowly, carefully, he took the heart knot from his pocket, and presented it in his open palm before her. The golden threads shimmered and danced against the sunset.

Elora drew in a deep breath, her body stilling in his arms. One of her hands reached towards his, trembling, touching his palm next to the heart knot. She turned to look up at him, her eyes wide.

As he watched her eyes glow, a dam broke somewhere inside of him, and everything he’d tamped down, avoided, or denied came rushing forth in a dizzying wave. “I’ve been a fool,” he breathed, his voice fragile as his head began to swim. “I was so convinced that I knew what was best that I couldn’t admit what you mean to me - that you’re the best thing in my life. Elora,” Arlo swallowed against the lump forming in his throat.  _ “I love you. _ And I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

Wind whistled around them as she blinked slowly. She was silent for so long that Arlo felt fear begin to claw at his heart - but then she reached for the heart knot, closing her fingers around it and holding it against her chest. A wide smile split her face.

“I accept,” she said, her voice hushed. Her free hand went to his cheek, stroking warm against his skin. “I love  _ you,” _ she whispered. “I always have.”

As the words hit him, a laugh bubbled up that Arlo couldn’t stifle. Warmth surged through every part of him as he scooped Elora up into his arms and held her close, nuzzling his nose against her neck. He couldn’t recall ever feeling elation like this, a swelling happiness that felt as though he would burst. Next to his ear, he heard her soft laughter, the sound like sweet music.

He pulled away just enough to press his forehead against hers. “Love you,” he repeated, unable to stop the words now that they were free. “Love you  _ so much.” _

Elora’s arms shifted to wrap around his neck. She was so very close, with her freckles and warm eyes that Arlo gave in, dipping his face to press his lips to hers, soft and warm. And when he did, he felt her body rise to press back. All of his anxiety and doubt crumbled away as he kissed her again and again, each of them giggling softly.

Their kisses slowed, and Elora gave a happy sigh as she nestled herself against him, her face tucked against his collarbone. Arlo kissed her forehead and hooked his hand under her legs to haul her into his lap so he could hold her completely, the cool breeze around them nothing compared to the glow of her in his arms, as bright and lovely as sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you so much to everyone who read and commented. I wasn't expecting anyone to even read this, much less enjoy it. This story was fun and challenging, so thank you for sticking with me ♥
> 
> You can come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/p_cucumbers) or [tumblr!](https://preservedcucumbers.tumblr.com/)


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